r 



BEAUTIES 



SHERIDAN. 



\ 



ISTORICAL SOCIETY, 
^■"^ CLEVELAND, 0, 



BEAUTIES 



SHERIDAN, 



CONSISTING OF 



SELECTIONS FROM HIS POEMS, DRAMAS, 
AND SPEECHES. 



BY ALFRED HOWARD, ESQ. 

5f^ ^ 

•If I 

^ BOSTON: 

PRINTED BY S. N. DICKINSON, 
FOR FREDERIC S. HILL, NO. 7, WATER STREET. 

1831. 



A' 



WeBt. Ees. HIbH. Soc. 



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^■^- •• V 



^7 



SHERIDAN. ^^ 



MONODY TO THE MEMORY OF GARRICK. 

Spr-hen at Drury Lane Theatre. 

If dying excellence deserves a tear, 

If fond remembrance still is cherished here, 

Can we persist to bid your sorrows flow 

For fabled sufferers, and delusive woe, 

Or with quaint smiles dismiss the plaintive strain, 

Point the quick jest — indulge the comic vein — 

Ere yet to buried Roscius we assign 

One kind regret — one tributary line ! 

His fame requires we act a tenderer part ! 
His memory claims the tear you gave his art ! 
The general voice, the meed of mournful verse. 
The splendid sorrows that adorn his hearse, 
The throng that mourned as their dead Favourite 

pass'd, 
The graced respect that claim'd him to the last. 
While Shakspeare's image, from its hallow'd base, 
Seemed to prescribe the grave, and point the place, — • 
Nor these, — nor all the sad regrets that flow 
From fond Fidelity's domestic woe, — 



2 SHERIDAN. 

So much are Garrick's praise — so much his due — 
As on this spot — one tear bestow'd by you. 

Amid the arts which seek ingenious fame, 
Our toil attempts the most precarious claim ! 
To Him, whose mimic pencil wins the prize, 
Obedient Fame immortal wreaths supplies : 
Whate'er of wonder Reynolds now may raise, 
Raphael still boasts contemporary praise : 
Each dazzling light and gaudier bloom subdued^ 
With undiminished awe His works are viewed : 
E'en Beauty's portrait wears a softer prime, 
Touch'd by the tender hand of mellowing Time. 

The patient Sculptor owns an humbler part, 
A ruder toil, and more mechanic art ; 
Content with slow and timorous stroke to trace 
The lingering line, and mould the tardy grace : 
But once achieved — tho' barbarous wreck o'erthrow 
The sacred fane, and lay its glories low, 
Yet shall the sculptured ruin rise to day, 
Graced by defect, and worship'd in decay ; 
The' enduring record bears the artist's name, 
Demands his honours, and asserts his fame. 

Superior hopes the Poet's bosom fire, — 
O proud distinction of the sacred lyre ! j 

Wide as the" inspiring Phoebus darts his ray, 
Diffusive splendour gilds his votary's lay, 
Whether the song heroic woes rehearse, 
With epic grandeur, and the pomp of verse ; 
Or, fondly gay, with unambitious guile, 
Attempt no prize but favouring Beauty's smile; 
Or bear dejected to the lonely grove 
The soft despair of unprevailing love : — 
Whate'er the theme — through every age and clime 
Congenial passions meet the' according rhyme j 



SHERIDAN. 6 

The pride of glory — Pity's sigh sincere — 
Youth's earliest Blush — and Beauty's virgin tear. 

Such is their meed — their honours thus secure, 
Whose arts yield objects, and whose works endure. 
The actor, only, shrinks from Time's award ; 
Feeble Tradition is His memory's guard ; 
By whose faint breath his merits must abide, 
Unvouch'd by proof — to substance unallied ! 
Even matchless Garrick's art, to heaven resign'd, 
No fix'd effect, no model, leaves behind ! 

The grace of action — the adapted mien. 
Faithful as nature to the varied scene ; 
The expressive glance— whose subtle comment draws 
Entranced attention, and a mute applause ; 
Gesture that marks, with force and feeling fraught, 
A sense in silence, and a will in thought ; 
Harmonious speech, whose pure and liquid tone 
Gives verse a music, scarce confess'd its own } 
As light from gems assumes a brighter ray, 
And clothed with orient hues, transcends the day I — 
Passion's wild break — and frown that awes the sense, 
And every charm of gentler eloquence — 
All perishable ! — like the' electric fire 
But strike the frame — and as they strike expire ; 
Incense too pure a bodied flame to bear. 
Its fragrance charms the sense, and blends with air. 

Where then — while sunk in cold decay he lies, 
And pale eclipse for ever veils those eyes ! — 
Where is the blest memorial that ensures [yours. 
Our Garrick's fame .'' — whose is the trust ? — 'tis 

And O ! by every charm his art essay'd 
To soothe your cares ! — by every grief allay'd I 
By the hush'd wonder which his accents drew ! 
By his last parting tear, repaid by you ! 



4 SHERIDAN, 

By all those thoughts, which many a distant night 
Shall mark his memory with a sad delight ! — 
Still in your hearts' dear record bear his name ; 
Cherish the keen regret that lifts his fame 
To you it is bequeath'd ; assert the trust, 
And to his worth — 'tis all you can — be just. 
What more is due from sanctifying Time, 
To cheerful wit, and many a favour'd rhyme, 
O'er his graced urn shall bloom, a deathless wreath, 
Whose blossom "d sweets shall deck the mask beneath. 
For these, — when Sculpture's votive toil shall rear 
The due memorial of a loss so dear ! — 
O loveliest mourner, gentle muse ! be thine 
The pleasing woe to guard the laurelled shrine. 
As Fancy, oft by Superstition led 
To roam the mansions of the sainted dead. 
Has view'd, by shadowy eve's unfaithful gloom, 
A weeping cherub on a martyr's tomb — 
So thou, sweet Muse, hang o'er his sculptured bier. 
With patient woe, that loves the lingering tear; 
With thoughts that mourn — nor yet desire relief; 
With meek regret, and fond enduring grief; 
With looks that speak — He never shall return ! — 
Chilling thy tender bosom, clasp his urn ; I 

And with soft sighs disperse the' irreverond dust, i 
Which Time may strew upon his sacred bust. 

A PORTRAIT. 



Addressed to Mrs. Cretce, icilh the Comedy of 
School for Scandal. 

Tell me, ye prim adepts in Scandal's school, 
Who rail by precept, and detract by rule, 



SHERIDAN. 

Lives there no character, so tried, so known, 

So deck'd with grace, and so unlike your own, 

That even you assist her fame to raise, 

Approve by envy, and by silence praise ! — 

Attend ! — a model shall attract your view — 

Daughters of calumny, I summon you ! 

You shall decide if this a portrait prove. 

Or fond creation of the Muse and Love. — 

Attend, ye virgin critics, shrewd and sage, 

Ye matron censors of this childia-h age, 

Whose peering eye and wrinkled front declare 

A fix'd antipathy to young and fair; 

By cunning, cautious, or by nature, cold, 

In maiden madness, virulently bold ! — 

Attend ! ye skilled to coin the precious tale, 

Creating proof, where inuendos fail ! 

Whose practised memories, cruelly exact, 

Omit no circumstance, except the fact ! — 

Attend, all ye who boast, — or old or young, — 

The living libel of a slanderous tongue ! 

So shall my theme as far contrasted be, 

As saints by fiends, or hymns by calumny. 

Come, gentle Amoret, (for 'neath that name, 

In worthier verse is sung thy beauty's fame) ; 

Come — for but thee who seeks the muse ? and while 

Celestial blushes check thy conscious smile, 

With timid grace and hesitating eye, 

The perfect model, which I boast, supply : — 

Vain Muse! couldstthou the humblest sketch create 

Of her, or slightest charm couldst imitate — 

Could thy blest strain in kindred colours trace 

The faintest wonder of her form and face — 

Poets would study the immortal line. 

And Reynolds own his art subdued by thine ; 



SHERIDAN. 



That art, which well might added lustre give 

To Nature's best and Heaven's superlative : 

On Granby's cheek might bid new glories rise, 

Or point a purer beam from Devon's eyes ! 

Hard is the task to shape that Beauty's praise, 

Whose judgment scorns the homage Flattery pays I 

But praising Amoret we cannot err, 

No tongue o'ervalues Heaven, or flatters her ! 

Yet she by Fate's perverseness — she alone 

Would doubt our truth, nor deem such praise her own! 

Adorning Fashion, unadorned by dress. 

Simple from taste, and not from carelessness; 

Discreet in gesture, in deportment mild, 

Not stiff" with prudence, nor uncouthly wild ; 

No state has Amoret ! no studied mien ; 

She frowns no goddess, and she moves no queen. 

The softer charm that in her manner lies 

Is framed to captivate yet not surprise ; 

It justly suits the' expression of her face, — 

'Tis less than dignity, and more than grace ! 

On her pure cheek the native hue is such, 

That formed by Heaven to be admired so much. 

The hand divine, with a less partial care, 

Might well have fix'd a fainter crimson there, 

And bade the gentle inmate of her breast, — 

Inshrined Modesty ! — supply the rest. 

But who the peril of her lips shall paint ? 

Strip them of smiles — still, still all words are faint I 

But moving Love himself appears to teach 

Their action, though denied to rule her speech; 

And thou who seest her speak and dost not hear. 

Mourn not her distant accents 'scape thine ear ; 

Viewing those lips, thou still mayst make pretence 

To judge of what she says, and swear 'tis sense : 



SHERIDAN. 7 

Clothed with such grace, with such expression 

fraught, 
They move in meaning, and they pause in thought ! 
But dost thou farther watch, with charm'd surprise, 
The mild irresolution of her eyes. 
Curious to mark how frequent they repose. 
In brief eclipse and momentary close ? — 
Ah! seest thou not an ambush'd Cupid there. 
Too timorous of his charge, with jealous care 
Veils and unveils those beams of heavenly light, 
Too full, too fatal else, for mortal sight ? 
Nor yet, such pleasing vengeance fond to meet. 
In pardoning dimples hope a safe retreat. 
What though her peaceful breast should ne'er allow 
Subduing frowns to arm her alter'd brow ; 
By Love, I swear, and by his gentle wiles. 
More fatal still, the mercy of her smiles ! 
Thus lovely, thus adorned, possessing all 
Of bright or fair that can to woman fall. 
The height of vanity might well be thought 
Prerogative in her, and Nature's fault. 
Yet gentle Amoret, in mind supreme 
As well charms, rejects the vainer theme ; 
And half mistrustful of her beauty's store. 
She barbs .with wit those darts too keen before : — 
Read in all knowledge that her sex should reach, 
Though Greville, or the Muse, should deign to teach, 
Fond to improve, nor timorous to discern 
How far it is a woman's grace to learn ; 
In Millar's dialect she would not prove 
Apollo's priestess, but Apollo's love, 
^Graced by those signs, which truth delights to own, 
The timid blush, and mild submitted tone -. 
Whate'er she says, though sense appear throughout, 
Displays the tender hue of female doubt ; 



D SHERIDAN. 

Deck'd with that charm, how lovely wit appears I 
How graceful science, when that robe she wears ! 
Such too her talents, and her bent of mind, 
As speak a sprightly heart by thought refined, 
A taste for mirth, by contemplation school'd, 
A turn for ridicule, by candour ruled, 
A scorn of folly, which she tries to hide ; 
An awe of talent, v/hich she owns with pride ! 

Peace ! idle Muse — no more thy strain prolong, 
But yield a theme, thy warmest praises wrong; 
Just to her merit, though thou canst not raise 
Thy feeble verse, behold the' acknowledged praise 
Has spread conviction through the envious train, 
And cast a ftital gloom o'er Scandal's reign ! 
And lo ! each pallid hag, with blister'd tongue, 
Mutters assent to all thy zeal has sung — 
Owns all the colours just — the outline true ; 
Thee my inspirer, and my model — Crewe ! 

LINES ON THE DEATH OF LIEUTENANT-COLONEI. 
BULLER, KILLED IN FLANDERS, IN 1795. 

Scarce hush'd the sigh, scarce dried the lingering tear, 
Affection poured upon a brother's bier f 
Another loss bids Laura's sorrows flow, 
As keen in anguish as a sister's Avoe. 

Unknown to me the object of her grief— 
I dare not counsel, did she ask relief; 
Yet may the wish no vain intrusion prove, 
To share her grief, for all who shared her love, 

Yes, gallant victim ! in this hateful strife, [life, 
Which pride maintains 'gainst man's and freedom's 

* Mrs. Sheridan had just lost a brother. 



SHERIDAN, y 

If quick and sensible to Laura's worth, 
Thy heart's first comment was affection's birth ; 
If thy soul's day rose only in her sight, 
And absence was thy clouded spirit's night ; 
If, 'mid whatever busy tumults thrown, 
Thy silent thoughts still turned to her alone ; 
If, while ambition seem'd each act to move, 
Thy secret hope was Laura, peace, and love; 
If such thy feelings, and thy dying prayer. 
To wish that happiness thou couldst not share ; 
Let me with kindred claim thy name revere, 
And give thy memory a brother's tear ! 

But, ah ! not tears alone fill Laura's eyes, 
Resentment kindles with affliction's sighs ; 
Insulted patience borrows passion's breath, 
To curse the plotters of these scenes of death. 
Yet sooth'd to peace, sweet mourner, tranquil be, 
And every harsh emotion leave to me ! 
Remembrance sad, and soft regret be thine. 
The wrath of hate, the blow of vengeance mine. 

And oh, by Heaven ! that hour shall surely come, 
When, fell destroyers ! ye shall meet your doom ! 
Yes, miscreant statesmen ! by the proud disdain 
Which honour feels at base corruption's reign, 
By the loud clamours of a nation's woes, 
By the still pang domestic sorrow knows, 
By all that hope has lost or terror fears ; 
By England's injuries, and Laura's tears ; [past, 
The hour shall come, when, fraud's short triumph's 
A people's vengeance shall strike home at last ! 
Then, then shall fell remorse, the dastard fiend. 
Who ne'er pollutes the noble soldier's end, 
And dark despair around the scaffold wait. 
And not one look deplore the traitor's fate ! 

B 2 



10 SHERIDAN. 

But while remembrance shakes his coward frame, 
And starts of pride contend with inward shame, 
The mute reproach, or execration loud. 
Of sober justice, or the scoffing crowd, 
Alike shall hail the blow that seals his doom. 
And gives to infamy his memory and his tomb. 

Turn from the hateful scene, dear Laura, turn, 
And thy loved friend with milder sorrow mourn 
Still dwell upon his fate ; for still thou'lt find 
The contrast lovely, and 'twill soothe thy mind ! 
Fallen with the brave, ere number 'd with the slain — 
His mind unwounded calms his body's pain ! 
Half raised he leans. — See Friendship bending o'er, 
Her sigh suppress'd, as to his view she bore 
Thy much-loved image, whose all-soothing smile 
Could pain disarm, and death's last pang beguile ! — 
Hopeless, but not dismayed, with fearless eye 
He reads the doom that tells him " he must die" — 
Lays his brave hand upon his bleeding breast, 
And feels his glory while he finds his rest ! 
Resigns the transient breath, which nature gave, 
And sure of prouder life o'erlooks the grave. — 
Sweet is the meed that waits his laurel'd bier, 
'Tis Valour's hope, 'tis Honour's praise sincere, 
'Tis Friendship's sigh, and gentle Beauty's tear ! 

STANZAS. 

" The lines * Uncouth is this moss-covered grotto 
of stone,' (says Mr. Moore,) were addressed to Miss 
Linley, after having offended her by one of those lec- 
tures upon decorum of conduct, which jealous lov- 
ers so frequently inflict upon their mistresses, — and 
the grotto, immortalized by their quarrel, is supposed 



SHERIDAN. 11 

to have been in Spring Gardens, then the fashionable 
place of resort in Bath." 

Uncouth is this moss-covered grotto of stone, 

And damp is the shade of this dew-dripping tree ; 

Yet I this rude grotto with rapture will own, 
And, willow, thy damps are refreshing to me. 

For this is the grotto where Delia reclined. 
As late I in secret her confidence sought ; 

And this is the tree kept her safe from the wind, 
As blushing she heard the grave lesson I taught. 

Then tell me, thou grotto of moss-covered stone. 
And tell me, thou willow with leaves dripping dew, 

Did Delia seem vex'd when Horatio was gone .'' 
And did she confess her resentment to you ? 

Methinks now each bough, as you're waving it, tries 
To whisper a cause for the sorrow I feel ; 

To hint how* she frown'd, when I dared to advise, 
And sigh'd when she saw that I did it with zeal. 

True, true, silly leaves, so she did, I allow; 

She frown'd, but no rage in her looks could I see: 
She frown'd, but reflection had clouded her brow; 

She sigh'd, but, perhaps, 'twas in pity to me. 

Then wave thy leaves brisker, thou willow of woe ; 

I tell thee no rage in her looks could I see ; 
I cannot, I will not, believe it was so ; 

She was not, she could not, be angry with me. 

For well did she know that my heart meant no wrong; 

It sunk at the thought but of giving her pain : 
But trusted its task to a faltering tongue. 

Which err'd from the feelings it could not explain. 



12 SHERIDAN. 

Yet, oh ! if indeed, I've offended the maid ; 

If Delia my humble monition refuse ; 
Sweet willow, the next time she visits thy shade, 

Fan gently her bosom, and plead my excuse. 

And thou, stony grot, in thy archmayst preserve 
Two lingering drops of the night-fallen dew. 

And just let them fall at her feet, and they'll serve 
As tears of my sorrow intrusted to you. 

Or lest they unheeded should fall at her feet. 

Let them fall on her bosom of snow ; and I swear 

The next time I visit thy moss-cover'd seat, 
I'll pay thee each drop with a genuine tear. 

So mayst thou, green willow, for ages thus toss 
Thy branches so lank o'er the slow- winding stream; 

And thou, stony grotto, retain all thy moss. 

While yet there's a poet to make thee his theme. 

Nay, more — may my Delia still give thee her charms 
Each evening, and sometimes the whole evening 
long; 

Then, grotto, be proud to support her white arms. 
Then, willow, wave all thy green tops to her song. 

TO DELIA. 

Dry be that tear, my gentlest love, 

Be hush'd that struggling sigh. 
Not seasons, day, nor fate, shall prove 

More fixed, more true, than I ! 
Hush'd be that sigh, be dry that tear. 
Cease boding doubt, cease anxious fear. — 
Dry be that tear ! 



SHERIDAN. 13 

Ask'st thou how long my love will stay 

When all that's new is passed ? 
How long, ah Delia, can I say 

How long my life will last ? 
Dry be that tear, be hushed that sigh. 
At least I'll love thee till I die. 
Hush'd be that sigh. 

And does that thought aiFect thee too, 

The thought of Sylvio's death, 
That he who only breathed for you 

Must yield that faithful breath ? 
Hush'd be that sigh, be dry that tear, 
Nor let us lose our heaven here ! 
Dry be that tear. 

A FRAGMENT. 

Mark'd you her cheek of rosy hue ? 
Mark'd you her eye of sparkling blue ! 
That eye, in liquid circles moving; 
That cheek abash'd at Man's approving; 
The one Love's arrows darting round ; 
The other blushing at the wound ! 
Did she not speak, did she not move, 
Now Pallas — now the Queen of love ! 

THE COUNTRY HOUSEWIFE. 

We see the Dame, in rustic pride, 
A bunch of keys to grace her side, 
Stalking across the well swept entry, 
To hold her council in the pantry : 
Or, with prophetic soul, foretelling 
The peas will boil well by the shelling ; 
Or bustling in her private closet 
Prepare her lord his morning posset ; 



14 SHERIDAN. 

And while the hallow'd mixture thickens, 
Signing death-warrents for the chickens ; 
Else, greatly pensive, poring o'er 
Accounts her cook had thumbed before ; 
The one cast up upon that great book 
Yclep'd The Family Receipt Book ; 
By which she's ruled in all her courses, 
From stewing figs to drenching horses. 
Then pans and pickling skillets rise. 
In dreadful lustre, to our eyes, 
With store of sweetmeats, ranged in order, 
And potted nothings on the border ; 
While salves and caudle-cups between, 
With squalling children, close the scene. 



LINES 

Written during a short absence from home. 

Teach me, kind Hymen, teach — for thou 
Must be my only tutor now, — 
Teach me some innocent employ, 
That shall the hateful thought destroy, 
That I this whole long night must pass 
In exile from my love's embrace. 

* From " Memoirs of the Life of the Right Hon. 
R. B. Sheridan, by T. Moore, Esq. ;" a work which 
will afford pleasure to all who respect genius, and 
especially to those who have alternately yawned over, 
and been disgusted by, a ponderous biographical li- 
bel on Mr. Sheridan, in which a weak but shameful 
attempt is made to rend from the brow of the dra« 
matist some of his brightest laurels. 



SHERIDAN. 15 

Alas, thou hast no wings, oh Time I 

It was some thoughtless lover's rhyme, 

Who, writing in his Chloe's view, 

Paid her the compliment through you. 

For had he, if he truly loved, 

But once the pangs of absence proved, 

He'd cropped thy wings, and in their stead 

Have painted thee with heels of lead. 

But 'tis the temper of the mind 

Where we thy regulator find. 

Still o'er the gay and o'er the young 

With unfelt steps you flit along, — 

As Virgil's nymph o'er ripened corn 

With such ethereal hast was borne. 

That every stock, with upright head, 

Denied the pressure of her tread. 

But o'er the wretched, oh, how slow 

And heavy sweeps th}' scythe of woe ! 

Oppressed beneath each sroke they bow, 

Thy course engraven on their brow, 

A day of absence shall consume 

The glow of youth and manhood's bloom, 

And one short right of anxious fear 

Shall leave the wrinkles of a year. 

For me, who, when I'm happy, owe 

No thanks to fortune that I'm so, 

Who long have learned to look at one 

Dear object, and at one alone. 

For all the joy, or all the sorrow, 

That gilds the day, or threats the morrow, 

I never felt thy footsteps light. 

But when sweet love did aid thy flight, 

And, banish'd from his blest dominion, 

I cared not for thy borrowed pinion. 



16 SHERIDAN. 

True, she is mine, and since she's mine, 
At trifles I should not repine ; 
But oh the miser's real pleasure 
Is not in knowing he has treasure ; 
He must behold his golden store, 
And feel and count his riches o'er. 
Thus I, of one dear gem possess'd. 
And in that treasure only blessed, 
There every day would seek delight, 
And clasp the casket every night. 

ANACREONTIC VERSES. * 

I ne'er could any lustre see 

In eyes that would not look on me : 

When a glance aversion hints, 

I always think the lady squints. 

I ne'er saw nectar on a lip 

But where my own did hope to sip. 

No pearly teeth rejoice my view. 

Unless a " yes" displays their hue — 

The prudish lip that noes me back, 

Convinces me the teeth are black. 

To me the cheek displays no roses, 

Like that the' assenting blush discloses; 

But when with proud disdain 'tis spread. 

To me tis but a scurvy red. 

Would she have me praise her hair .'' 

Let her place my garland there ; 

Is her hand so white and pure ? 

I must press it to be sure ; 

*From Mr. Moore's "Memoirs of the Life of 
Sheridan." 



SHERIDAN. 17 

Nor can I be certain then, 

Till it grateful press again. 

Must I praise her melody ? 

Let her sing of love and me. 

If she choose another theme, 

I'd rather hear a peacock scream. 

Must I, with attentive eye, 

Watch her heaving bosom sigh ? 

I will do so, when I see 

That heaving bosom sigh for me. 

None but bigots will in vain 

Adore a heaven they cannot gain ; 

If I must religious prove 

To the mighty God of Love, 

Sure I am it is but fair 

He at least should hear my prayer. 

But, by each joy of his I've known, 

And all I yet shall make my own. 

Never will I, with humble speech, 

Pray to a heaven I cannot reach. 

TO LAURA.* 

Near Avon's ridgy bank there grows 

A willow of no vulgar size ; 
That tree first heard poor Silvio's woes, 

And heard how bright were Laura's eyes. 

Its boughs were shade from heat or shower, 
Its roots a moss-grown seat became ; 

Its leaves would strew the maiden's bower, 
Its bark was shatter'd with her name ! 

* From Mr. Moore's " Memoirs of the Life of 
Sheridan." 



18 SHERIDAN. 

Once on a blossom-crowned day 

Of mirth-inspiring May, 

Silvio, beneath the willow's sober shade, 

In sullen contemplation laid, 

Did mock the meadow's flowery pride, — 
Rail'd at the dance and sportive ring ; — 

The tabor's call he did deride, 
And said it was not Spring. 

He scorn'd the sky of azure blue, 

He scorn'd whate'er could mirth bespeak ; 

He chid the beam that drank the dew. 
And chid the gale that fanned his glowing cheek. 

Unpaid the Season's wonted lay. 

For still he sighed and said it was not May. 

" Ah, why should the glittering stream 

Reflect thus delusive the scene ? 
Ah, why does a rosy-tinged beam 

Thus vainly enamel the green ? 
To me nor joy nor light they bring, 
I tell thee, Phoebus 'tis not Spring. 

" Sweet tutoress of music and love, 

Sweet bird, if 'tis thee that I hear, 
Why left you so early the grove. 

To lavish your melody here ? 
Cease, then, mistaken thus to sing. 
Sweet Nightingale ! it is not Spring. 

"The gale courts not my locks but to tease, 
And Zephyr, I called not on thee ; 

Thy fragrance no longer can please ; 
Then rob not the blossom for me : 

But hence unload thy balmy wing, 

Believe me, Zephyr, 'tis not Spiring. 



SHERIDAN. 19 

"Yet the lily has drank of the shower, 
And the rose 'gins to peep on the day ; 

And yon bee seems to search for a flower 
As busy as if it were May : — 

In vain thou senseless fluttering thing, 

My heart informs me, 'tis not Spring." 

May poised her roseate wings, for she had heard 
The mourner as she passed the vales along ; 

And, silencing her own indignant bird, 
She thus reproved poor Silvio's song : 

"'How false is the sight of a lover : 
How ready his spleen to discover 

What reason would never allow ! 
Why, — Silvio, my sunshine and showers, 
My blossoms, my birds, and my flowers, 

Were never more perfect than now. 

" The water's reflection is true, 
The green is enamelled to view. 

And Philomel sings on the spray ; 
The gale is the breathing of Spring ; 
'Tis fragrance it bears on its wing, 

And the bee is assured it is May." 

"Pardon," (said Silvio, with a gushing tear), 

" "Tis Spring, sweet nymph, but Laura is not here." 

FRAGMENT. * 

Then, behind, all my hair is done up in a plat, 
And so, like a cornet's, tucked under my hat. 
Then I mount on my palfry as gay as a lark, 
And, foUowed by John, take the dust in Hyde Park. 

*From Mr. Moore's "Memoirs of the Life of 
Sheridan." 



20 SHERIDAN. 

In the way I am met by some smart macaroni, 
Who rides by my side on a Httle bay pony — 
No sturdy Hibernian, with shoulders so wide, 
But as taper and shm as the ponies they ride ; 
Their legs are as slim, and their shoulders no wider; 
Dear sweet little creatures both pony and rider \ 

" But sometimes, when hotter, I order my chaise, 
And manage, myself, my two little greys. 
Sure never were seen two such sweet little ponies ; 
Other horses are clowns, and these macaronies ; 
And to give them this title, I'm sure is'nt wrong, 
Their legs are so slim, a,nd their tails are so long. 

"In Kensington Gardens to stroll up and down. 
You know was the fashion before you left town ; 
The thing's well enough, when allowance is made 
For the size of the trees and the depth of the shade ; 
But the spread of their leaves such a shelter affords 
To those noisy, impertinent creatures called birds, 
Whose ridiculous chirruping ruins the scene, 
Brings the country before me and gives me the spleen, 

"Yet, tho' 'tis too rural, — to come near the mark, 
We all heard in one walk, and that nearest the Park; 
There with ease we may see as we pass by the wicket, 
The chimneys of Knightsbridge, and — footmen at 
I must tho' , in justice, declare that the grass, [cricket. 
Which, worn by our feet, is diminish 'd apace, 
In a little time more will be brown and as flat 
As the sand at Vauxhall or as Ranelagh mat. 
Improving thus fast, perhaps, by degrees. 
We may see rolls and butter spread under the trees, 
With a small pretty band in each side of the walk, 
To play little tunes and enliven our talk." 



SHERIDAN. 21 

LINES. * 

From the unfinished Opera of '' The Foresters."" 

"We two, each other's only pride, 
Each other's bliss, each other's guide, 
Far from the world's unhallowed noise, 
Its coarse delights and tainted joys, 
' Through wilds will roam, and deserts rude ; 
For, Love, thy home is solitude. 

"There shall no vain pretender be, 
To court thy smiles and torture me ; 
No proud superior there be seen ; 
But nature's voice shall hail thee queen. 

" With fond respect and tender awe, 
I will receive thy gentle law. 
Obey thy looks, and serve thee still, 
Prevent thy wish, foresee thy will. 
And, added to a lover's care, 
Be 1 that friends and parents are." 

EPILOGUE, t 

" In this gay month, when through the sultry hour, 
The vernal sun denies the wonted shower, 
When youthful Spring usurps maturer sway, 
And pallid April steals the blush of May, 
How joys the rustic tribe to view display'd 
The liberal blossom and the early shade ! 
But ah ! far other air our soil delights, 
Here ' charming weather' is the worst of blights. 

* From Mr Moore's "^Memoirs of the Life of 
Sheridan." 
t Ibid. 



22 SHERIDAN. 

No genial beams rejoice our rustic train, 
The harvest's still the better for the rain. 
To summer suns our groves no tribute owe, 
They thrive in frost and flourish best in snow. 
When other woods resound the feathered throng, 
Our groves, our woods are destitute of song. 
The thrush, the lark, all leave our mimic vale ; 
No more we boast our Christmas nightingale. 
Poor Rossignol — the wonder of his day, 
Sang through the winter, but is mute in May. 
Then bashful spring, that gilds fair nature's scene, 
O'ercasts our lawns, and deadens every green ; 
Obscures our sky, embrowns the wooden shade, 
And dries the channel of each tin cascade ! 

Oh hapless we, whom such ill fate betides, 
Hurt by the beam which cheers the world besides ! 
Who love the lingering frost, nice chilling showers, 
While Nature's Benefit — is death to ours ; 
Who, witch-like, best in noxious mists perform. 
Thrive in the tempest, and enjoy the storm. 
Oh hapless we ! unless your generous care 
Bids us no more lament that spring is fair ; 
But plenteous glean from the dramatic soil 
The vernal harvest of our winter's toil. 
For April suns to us no pleasures bring ; 
Your presence here is all we feel of spring. 
May's riper beauties here no bloom display ; 
Your fostering smile alone proclaims it May." 

EPILOGUE TO THE TRAGEDY OF " SEMIRAMIS." 

Spoken by Mrs. Yate. 

Dishevell'd still, like Asia's bleeding queen, 
Shall I with jests deride the tragic scene ? 



SHERIDAN. 23 

No, beauteous mourners I from whose downcast eyes 
The muse has drawn her noblest sacrifice ! 
Whose gentle bosoms, pity's altars, bear 
The crystal incense of each falling tear ! 
There lives the poet's praise — no critic art 
Can match the comment of a feeling heart ! 

When general plaudits speak the fable o'er, 
Which mute attention had approved before, 
Tho' ruder spirits love the accustomed jest, 
Which chases sorrow from the vulgar breast, 
Still hearts refined their sadden'd tint retain. 
The sigh is pleasure, and the jest is pain ! 
Scarce have they smiles to honour grace or wit, 
Tho Roscius spoke the verse himself had writ. 
Thus thro' the time when vernal fruits receive 
The grateful showers that hang on April's eve, 
Tho' every coarser stem of forest birth 
Throws with the morning beam its dews to earth, 
Ne'er does the gentle rose revive so soon — 
But bathed in nature's tears, it droops till noon. 
O could the muse one simple moral teach ! 
From scenes like these, which all who heard might 
Thou child of sympathy — whoe'er thou art, [reach ! 
Who, with Assyria's queen, has wept thy part — 
Go search, where keener woes demand relief. 
Go — while thy heart yet beats with fancied grief j 
The graceful tear still lingering in the eye — 
Go — and on real misery bestow 
The bless' d effusion of fictitious woe ! 
So shall our muse, supreme of all the nine. 
Deserve, indeed, the title o^— divine. 
Virtue shall own her favour'd from above. 
And pity greet her with a sister's love 1 



24 SHERIDAN. 

EPILOGUE TO THE TRAGEDY OF " FATAL 
FALSEHOOD." 

Spoken by Mr. Lee Lewes. 

Unhand me, gentlemen — by heaven, I say, 
I'll make a ghost of him who bars my way ! 

[Behind the scenes. 
Forth let me come, a poetaster true, 
As lean as Envy, and as baneful too ; 
On the dull audience let me vent my rage, 
Or drive these female scribblers from the stage. 
For scene or history we've none but these ; 
The law of liberty and wit they seize ; 
In tragic, comic, pastoral, they dare to please. 
Each puny bard must surely burst with spite, 
To find that women v»^ith sucli fame can write: 
But, oh ! your partial favour is the cause. 
Which feeds their follies with such full applause. 
Yet still our tribe shall seek to blast their fame, 
And. ridicule each fair offender's aim ; 
Where the dull duties of domestic life 
Wage with the Muse's toils eternal strife. 

What motley cares Gorilla's mind perplex, 
While maids and metaphors conspire to vex ! 
In studious deshabille behold her sit, 
A letter'd gossip, and a housewife wit ; 
At once invoking, though for different views, 
Her gods, her cook, her milliner, and muse ; 
Round her strew'd room a frippery chaos lies, 
A chequered wreck of notable and wise ; 
Bills, books, caps, couplets, combs, a varied mass, 
Oppress the toilet, and obscure the glass ; 
Unfinish'd here an epigram is laid, 
And there a mantua-maker's bill unpaid ; 



SHERIDAN. 25 

Here new-'born plays foretaste the town^s applause, 

There dormant patterns pine for future gauze ; 

A moral essay now is all her care, 

A satire next, and then a bill of fare : 

A scene she now projects, and now a dish, 

Here act the first — and here — remove with fish. 

Now, while this eye in a fine frenzy rolls, 

That soberly casts up a bill for coals ; 

Black pins and daggers in one leaf she sticks, 

And tears, and thread, and balls, and thimbles mix. 

Sappho, 'tis true, long versed in epic song, 
For years esteem'd all household studies wrong; 
When dire mishap, though neither shame nor sin, 
Sappho herself, and not her muse, lies in. 
The virgin Nine in terror fly the bower. 
And matron Juno claims despotic povv^er ; 
Soon Gothic hags the classic pile o'erturn, 
A caudle cup supplants the sacred urn ; 
Nor books, nor implements, escape their rage, 
They spike the ink-stand, and they rend the page ; 
Poems and plays one barbarous fate partake, 
Ovid and Plautus suffer at the stake, 
And Aristotle's only saved to wrap plum-cake. 

Yet, shall a woman tempt the tragic scene ? 
And dare — but hold — I must repress my spleen •. 
I see your hearts are pledged to her applause, 
While Shakspeare's spirit seems to aid her cause,; 
Weil pleased to aid, since o'er his sacred bier 
A female hand did ample trophies rear. 
And gave the greenest laurel that is worshipped 
there. 



96 SHERIDAM. 

PROLOGUE TO " THE RIVALS." 

Spoken by Mr. Woodward and Mr. Quick. 

Enter Sergeant at Law, and Attorney following, and 
giving a paper. 

Serj. What's here!~a vile cramp hand! I cannot see 
Without my spectacles. 

Att. He means his fee. 

Nay, Mr. Sergeant, good sir, try again. 

[Gives money. 
Serj. The scrawl improves! [more] O come, 'tis 

pretty plain. 
Hey ! how's this ? Dibble ! — sure it cannot be ! 
A poet's brief! a poet and a fee ! 

Att. Yes, sir ! though you without reward, I know^ 
Would gladly plead the Muse's cause. 

Serj. So ! — so ! 

Jltt. And if the fee offends, your wrath should fall 
On me. 

Serj. Dear Dibble, no offence at all. 

^tt. Some sons of Phoebus in the courts we meet. 

Serj. And fifty sons of Phoebus in the Fleet ! 

Jltt. Nor pleads he worse, who wnth a decent sprig 
Of bays adorns his legal waste of wig. 

Serj. Full-bottom'd heroes thus, on signs, unfurl 
A leaf of laurel in a grove of curl ! 
"f et tell your client, that, in adverse days, 
This wig is warmer than a bush of bays. 

Att. Do you, then, sir, my client's place supply. 
Profuse of robe, and prodigal of tie — 
Do you, with all those blushing powers of face. 
And wonted bashful hesitating grace, 
Rise in the court, and flourish on the case. lExit. 



SHERIDAN. 27 

Serj. For practice, then, suppose — this brief will 
show it — 
Me, Serjeant Woodward, — coimsel for the poet. 
Used to the ground, I know 'tis hard to deal 
With this dread court, from whence there's no appeal; 
No tricking here, to blunt the edge of law, 
Or damned in equity, escape by flaw : 
But judgment given, your sentence must remain ; 
No writ of error lies — to Dritry-Lane ! 
Tet when so kind you seem, 'tis past dispute 
We gain some favour, if not costs of suit. 
No spleen is here ! I see no hoarded fury ! — 
I think I never faced a milder jury ! 
Sad else our plight ! where frowns are transportation, 
A hiss the gallows, and a groan damnation ! 
But such the public candour, without fear 
My client waves all right of challenge here ; 
No newsman from our session is dismiss'd, 
Nor wit nor critic toe scratch off the list ; 
His faults can never hurt another's ease, 
His crime, at worst, a had attempt to please. 
Thus, all respecting, he appeals to all, 
And by the general voice will stand or fall. 

The play being withdrawn after the first night's 
representation, upon its second appearance the hues 
from '* Hey ! how's this," &c. to " no offence at all," 
were omitted, and the following inserted. 

'• How's this ! tlie j)oet's brief oo-am .' O ho ! 
Cast, I suppose ! 

'Att. O pardon me — No — No — 

We found the court, o'erlooking stricter laws, 
Indulgent to the merits of the cause ; 



28 SHERIDAN. 

By judges mild, unused to harsh denial ; 
A rule was granted for another trial. 

Serj. Then, hark'ee, Dibble, did you mend y out 
pleadings ? 
Errors, no fev/, we've found in our proceedings. 

Att. Come, courage, sir, we did amend our plea. 
Hence your new brief and this refreshing fee." 

PROLOGUE TO " THE RIVALS." 

Spoken on the tenth night, by Mrs. Bulkley. 

Granted our cause, our suit and trial o'er. 

The worthy Serjeant need appear no more ; 

In pleading I a different client choose ; 

He served the Poet, — I would serve the Muse; 

Like him, I'll try to merit your applause, 

A female counsel in a female's cause. [sly, 

Look on this form,* where Hinnour, — quaint and 
Dimples the cheek, and points the beaming eye, 
Where gay Invention seems to boast its wiles 
In amorous hint, and half-triumphant smiles ; 
While her light mask or covers Satire's strokes, 
Or hides the conscious blush her wit provokes. 

Look on her well — does she seem form'd to teach ? 
Should you erpect to hear this lady preach .-' 
Is grey experience suited to her youth ? 
Do solemn sentiments become that mouth .'' 
Bid her be grave, those lips should rebel prove 
To every theme that slanders mirth or love. 

Yet thus adorn'd with every graceful art 
To charm the fancy, and yet reach the heart — 

^Pointing to the figure of Comedy. 



SHERIDAN. )Sd 

Must we displace her ! And instead advance 
The Goddess of the woful countenance — 
The sentimental Muse ! — Her emblems view, 
The Pilgrim's Progress, and a sprig of rue ! 
View her — too chaste to look like flesh and blood — 
Primly portray'd on emblematic wood ! 
There fix'd in usurpation should she stand. 
She'll snatch the dagger from her sister's hand : 
And having made her votaries xoeej) a flood, 
Good heaven I she'll end her comedies in blood : 
Bid Harry Woodward break poor Dunstal's crown; 
Imprison Quick, and knock Ned Shuter down; 
While sad Barsanti, weeping o'er the scene. 
Shall stab herself — or poison Mrs. Green. — 

Such dire encroachments to prevent in time, 
Demand's the critic's voice — the poet's rhyme. 
Can our light scenes add strength to holy laws ! 
Such puny patronage but hurts the cause : 
Fair virtue scorns our feeble aid to ask ; 
And moral Truth disdains the trickster's mask. 
For here their favourite stands,* whose brow, severe 
And sad, claims Youth's respect, and Pity's tear ; 
Who, when oppress'd by foes her worth creates, 
Can point a poniard at the guilt she hates. 

EPILOGUE TO THE COMEDY OF '' THE RIVALS." 

Spoken by Mrs, Bulkley. 

Ladies, for you — I heard our poet say — 

He'd try to coax some moral from his play : 

'' One moral's plain," cried I, " without more fuss; 

Man's social happiness all rests on us : 

* Pointing to Tragedy. 



30 SHERIDAN. 

Through all the drama— whether d— n'd or not — 
Ijyce gilds the scene, and women guide \heplot. 
From every rank obedience is our due — 
D'jQ doubt ? — The world's great stage shall prove it 
true !" 
The Cit, well skill'd to shun domestic strife, 
Will sup abroad ; — but first he'll ask his wife : 
John Trott, h\s friend, for once will do the same, 
But then — he'll just step home to tell his dame. 

The Surly Squire at noon resolves to rule, 
And half the day — Zounds ! Madam is a fool ! 
Convinced at night, the vanquish'd victor says, 
Oh, Kate! you wovien have such coaxing icays! 

The jolly Toper chides each tardy blade, 
Till reeling Bacchus calls on Love for aid : 
Then with each toast he sees fair bumpers swim. 
And kisses Chloe on the sparkling brim ! 

Nay, I have heard that Statesmeii — great and wise — 
Will sometimes counsel with a lady's eyes ; 
The servile suitors watch her various face ; 
She smiles preferment, or she frowns disgrace ; 
Curtsies a pension here — there nods a place. 

Not with less awe, in scenes of humble life. 
Is view'd the mistress, or is heard the icife, 
The poorest peasant of the poorest soil. 
The child of poverty, and heir to toil. 
Early from radiant Love's impartial light 
Steals one small spark to cheer his world of night : 
Dear spark ! that oft through winter's chilling woes 
Is all the warmth his little cottage knows ! 

The wandering Tar, who not for years has press'd 
The widow'd partner of his day of rest. 
On the cold deck, far from her arms removed. 
Still hums the ditty which his Susan loved ; 



SHERIDAN. 31 

And while around the cadence rude is blown, 
The boatswain whistles in a softer tone. 
The Soldier, fairly proud of wounds and toil, 
Pants for the triumph of his Nancy's smile ; 
But ere the battle should he list her cries, 
The lover trembles — and the hero dies ! 
That heart, by war and honour steel'd to fear. 
Droops on a sigh, and sickens at a tear! 

But ye more cautious, ye nice judging few, 
Who give to Beauty only Beauty's due, 
Though friends to Love — }je view with deep regret 
Our conquest^s marr'd, our triumphs incomplete, 
Till polished Wit more lasting charms disclose. 
And Judgment fix the darts which Beauty throws ! 

In female breasts did sense and merit rule, 
The lover's mind would ask no other school ; 
Shamed into sense, the scholars of our eyes, 
Our beaux from gallantrij would soon be wise ; 
Would gladly light, their homage to improve. 
The lamp of Knowledge at the torch of Love ! 

PROLOGUE TO THE TRAGEDY OF " SIR THOMAS 
OVERBURY." 

Too long the Muse — attached to regal show. 

Denies the scene to tales of humbler woe. 

Such as were wont — while yet they charmed the ear, 

To steal the plaudit of a silent tear. 

When Otway gave domestic grief its part. 

And Rowe's familiar sorrows touch'd the heart. 

A scepter'd traitor, lash'dby vengeful fate, 
A bleeding hero, or a fallen state. 
Are themes (though nobly worth the classic song) 
Which feebly claim your sighs, nor claim them long; 



32 SHERIDAN. 

Too great for pity, they inspire respect; 
Their deeds astonish ratiier than afFect; 
Proving how rare the heart that woe can move 
Which reason tells us, we can never prove. 

Other the scene, where sadly stands confest 
The private pang that rends the sufferer's breast ; 
Vvhen sorrow sits upon a parent's brow, 
When fortune mocks the youthful lover's vow — 
All feel the tale — for who so mean, but knows 
W' hat fathers' sorrows are? What lovers' woes? 
On kindred ground, our bard his fabric built. 
And placed a mirror there for private guilt ! 
Where — fatal union ! — will appear combined 
An angel's form — and an abandon'd mind; 
Honour attempting passion to reprove. 
And friendship struggling with unhallow'd love i 

Yet view not, critics, with severe regard 
The orphan offspring of an orphan bard, 
Doom'd, while he wrote, unpitied to sustain 
More real miseries than his pen could feign ! 
Ill-fated Savage ! at whose birth was given 
No parent but the Muse, no friend but Heaven * 
Wliose youth no brother knew, with social care 
To soothe his sufferings, or demand to share; 
No wedded partner of his mortal woe. 
To win his smile at all that fate could do ; 
While at his death, nor friend, nor mother's tear 
Fell on the track of his deserted bier ! 

So pleads the tale,* that gives to future times 
Tlie son's misfortunes and the parent's crimes; 
There shall his fame (if own'd to-night) survive^ 
Fix'd by the hand that bids our language live • 

* The Life of Savage, by Dr. John^u. 



SHERIDAN. 33 

PROLOGUE TO THE COMEDY OF " THE TRIP TO 
SCARBOROUGH." 

What various transformations we remark, 
From east Whitechapel to the west Hyde Park ! 
Men, women, children, houses, signs, and fashions, 
State, stage, trade, taste, the humours, and the pas- 
sions ; 
The' Exchange, 'Change-alley, wheresoe'er you're 

ranging. 
Court, city, country, all are changed, or changing : 
The streets sometime ago, were paved with stones. 
Which, aided by a hackney coach, half broke your 

bones. 
The purest lovers then indulged no bliss ; 
They ran great hazard, if they stole a kiss. 
" One chaste salute'' — the damsel cried — '' Ojie!" 
As they approach'd — slap went the coach awry — 
Poor Sylvia got a bump, and Damon a black eye. 

But now weak nerves in hackney coaches roam, 
And the crammed glutton snores, unjolted, home : 
Of former times, that polished thing, a beau. 
Is metamorphosed now, from top to toe ; 
Then the full flaxen wig, spread o'er the shoulders, 
Concealed the shallow head from the beholders ! 
But now the whole's reversed — each fop appears 
Cropped, and trimmed up, exposing head and ears : 
The buckle then its modest limits knew; 
Now, like the ocean, dreadful to the view, 
Hath broke its bounds, and swallows up the shoe ; 
The v/earer's foot, like his once fine estate. 
Is almost lost, the' encumbrance is so great. 
Ladies may smile — are they not in the plot ? 
The bounds of nature have not they forgot ? 

c"2 



34 SHERIDAN. 

Wero they design'd to be, when put together, 

Made up, like shuttle-cocks, of cork and feather ? 

Their pale-faced grand-mammas appear 'd with grace, 

When dawning blushes rose upon the face ; 

No blushes now their once-loved station seek } 

The foe is in possession of the cheek 1 

No heads, of old, too high in feather'd state, 

Hinder'd the fair to pass the lowest gate ; 

A church to enter now, they must be bent, 

If ever they should try the' experiment. 

As change thus circulates throughout the nation, 
Some plays may justly call for alteration ; 
At least to draw some slender covering o'er 
That graceless wit* which was too bare before : 
Those writers well and wisely use their pens. 
Who turn our wantons into Magdalens ; 
And howsoever wicked wits revile 'em. 
We hope to find in you their stage asylum. 

PROLOGUE TO THE COMEDY OF " THE MINIATURE 
PICTURE." 

Chiird by rude gales, while yet reluctant May 
Withholds the beauties of the vernal day. 
As some fond maid, whom matron frowns reprove, 
Suspends the smild her heart devotes to love. 
The Season's pleasures too delay their hour. 
And Winter revels with protracted power; 
Then blame not, Critics, if thus late we bring 
A Winter's Drama, but reproach the Spring. 
What prudent Cit dares yet the season trust. 
Bask in the whiskey, and enjoy the dust .? 

*And Van wants grace, who never wanted wit. 

Pope. 



SHERIDAN. 33 

Horsed in Cheapside, scarce yet the gayer Spark 
Achieves the Sunday triumph of the Park ; 
Scarce yet you see him, dreading to be late, [gate ; 
Scour the New-Road, and dash through Grosvenor- 
Anxious — yet timorous too — his steed to show, 
The hack Bucephalus of Rotten-row ! 
Careless he seems, yet, vigilantly sly, 
Woos the stray glance of ladies passing by, 
While his off heel, insidiously aside. 
Provokes the caper which he seems to chide. 
Scarce rural Kensington due honour gains, 
The vulgar verdure of her walks remains ! 
Where white-robed Misses amble two by two, 
Nodding to booted Beaux — " How do ? How do .^" 
With generous questions that no answer wait — 
" How vastly full ! A'n't you come vastly late .'' 
I'n'tit quite charming .'' When do you leave town .'' 
A'n't you quite tir'd.'' Pray can we set you down.'"' 
These suburb pleasures of a London May, 
Imperfect yet, we hail the cold delay ; 
But if this plea's denied, in our excuse 
Another still remains you can't refuse ; 
It is a lady writes — and hark !— a noble Muse !* 
But see a Critic starting from his bench — [French : 
"A noble author.^" — Yes, Sir, but the play's not 

* The comedy of " The Miniature Picture" was 
written by Lady Craven. The first thirty lines of 
this Prologue were afterwards made to serve as a 
Prologue to the drama of "■ Pizzaro," with the addi^ 
tion of the two following lines as a conclusion : 

" Should our Play please — and you're indulgent 
ever — 
Kindly decree, < 'tis better late than never.' " 



36 SHERIDAN. 

Yet if it were, no blame onus could fall, 

For we, you know, must follow Fashion's call, 

And true it is, things lately were en train 

To woo the gallic Muse at Drury Lane ; 

Not to import a troop of foreign elves. 

But treat you with French actors — in ourselves : 

A friend we had, who vowed he'd make us speak 

Pure flippant French, by contract, in a week. 

Told us 'twas time to study what was good, 

Polish, and leave off being understood; 

That crowded audiences we thus might bring 

To Monsier Parsons, and Chevalier King : 

Or should the vulgar grumble now and then. 

The Prompter might translate for country gentlemen. 

Straight all subscribed — Kings, Gods, Mutes, Singer, 

Actor, — 
A Flanders-figure-dancer our contractor. 
But here, I grieve to own, though 't be to you, 
He acted — e'en as most contractors do ; 
Sold what he never dealt in, and the' amount 
Being first discharged, submitted his account : 
And what the' event ? Their industry was such, 
Dodd spoke good Flemish, Bannister bad Dutch. 
Then the rogue told us, with insulting ease. 
So it was foreign, it was sure to please : 
Beaux, wits, applaud, as fashion should command, 
And Misses laugh — to seem to understand — 
So from each clime our clime may something gain ; 
Manhood from Rome, and sprightliness from Spain ; 
Some Russian Roscius next delight the age. 
And a Dutch Heinel skait along the stage. 
Exotic fopperies, hail ! whose flattering smile 
Supplants the sterner virtues of our isle ! 



SHERIDAN. 37 

Thus, while with Chinese firs and Indian pines 
Our nurseries swarm, the British oak decUnes : 
Yet, vain our Muse's fear — no foreign laws 
We dread, while native beauty pleads our cause : 
While you 're to judge, whose smiles are honours 

higher 
Than verse should gain, but where those eyes inspire. 
But if the men presume your power to awe, 
Retort their churlish senatorial law ; [draw : 

This is your house, — and move — the gentlemen with- 
Then they may vote, with envy never ceasing, 
Your influence has increased, and is increasing ; 
But there, I trust, the resolution's finish'd ; 
Sure none will say — it ought to be diminish' d. 

SONG, FRQM " THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL." 

Here's to the maiden of bashful fifteen ; 

Here's to the widow of fifty ; 
Here's to the flaunting extravagant quean. 

And here's to the housewife that's thrifl;y. 
Chorus. Let the toast pass, — 

Drink to the lass, 
I'll warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass. 

Here's to the charmer whose dimple we prize ; 

Now to the maid who has none, sir : 
Here's to the girl with a pair of blue eyes. 

And here's to the nymph with but 07ie, sir. 
Let the toast pass, &c. 

Here's to the maid with a bosom of snow: 
Now to her that's as brown as a berry : 
Here's to the wife with a face full of woe. 
And now to the girl that is merry. 
Let the toast pass, i&c. 
f 



38 SHKRIDAN. 

For let 'em be clumsy, or let 'em be slim, 
Young or ancient, I care not a feather : 
So fill a pint bumper quite up to the brira, 
And let us e'en toast 'em together, 
liet the toast pass, — 
Drink to the lass, 
I'll warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass. 

SONGS, FROM " THE DUENNA." 

Tell me, my lute, can thy soft strain 
So gently speak thy master's pain, 

So softly sing, so humbly sigh. 
That, though my sleeping love shall know 
Who sings — who sighs below. 

Her rosy slumbers shall not fly ^ 
Thus, may some vision whisper more 
Than ever I dared speak before. 

* ii w * 

The breath of morn bids hence the night ; 
Unveil those beauteous eyes, my fair : 
For till the dawn of love is there, 

I feel no day, I own no light. 

Louisa — replies from a toindow. 

Waking, I heard thy numbers chide. 

Waking, the dawn did bless my sight : 
'Tis Phoebus, sure, that woos, I cried. 
Who speaks in song, who moves in lights 
***** 
Could I her faults remember. 

Forgetting every charm. 

Soon would impartial Reason 

The tyrant Love disarm ; 



SHERIDAN. 39 

But when enraged I number 

Each failing of her mind, 
Love still suggests each beauty, 

And sees — while Reason's blind. 



I ne'er could any lustre see 

In eyes that would not look on me ; 

I ne'er saw nectar on a lip, 

But where my own did hope to sip. 

Has the maid who seeks my heart 

Cheeks of rose untouch'd by art? 

I will own the colour true 

When yielding blushes aid their hue. 

Is her hand so soft and pure ? 
I must press it to be sure ; 
Nor can I be certain then, 
Till it, grateful, press again. 
Must I, with attentive eye, 
Watch her heaving bosom sigh? 
I will do so, when I see 
That heaving bosom sigh for me. 
* * * » It 

Friendship is the bond of reason ; 

But if beauty disapprove, 
Heaven dissolves all other treason 

In the heart that's true to love. 

The faith which to my friend I swore, 

As a civil oath I view ; 
But to the charms which I adore, 

'Tis religion to be true, 

Then if to one I false must be. 
Can I doubt which to prefer — 



40 SHERIDAN. 

A breach of social faith witli thee, 
Or sacrilege to love and her ? 

* » * * * 

Though cause for suspicion appears, 

Yet proofs of her love, too, are strong ; 
I'm a wretch if I'm right in my fears, 
And unworthy of bliss if I'm wrong. 
What heart-breaking torments from jealousy flow, 
Ah ! none but the jealous — the jealous can know ! 

When blest with the smiles of my fair, 

I know not how much I adore ; 
Those smiles let another but share, *^ 

And I wonder I prized them no more ! 
Then whence can I hope for relief from my woe. 
When the falser she seems, still the fonder I grow ! 
****** 
Thou canst not boast of fortune's store, 

My love, while me they wealthy call ; 
But I was glad to find thee poor — 

For with my heart I'd give thee all. 
And then the grateful youth shall own 
I loved him for himself alone. 

But when his worth my hand shall gain, 

No word or look of mine shall show^ 
That I the smallest thought retain 
Of what m}'^ bounty did bestow : 
Yet still his grateful heart shall own, 
I loved him for himself alone. 
* * * * * * 

If a daughter you have, she's the plague of your life ; 
No peace shallyouknow,tho' you've buried your wife: 



SHERIDAN. 41 

At twenty she mocks at the duty you taught her — 
Oh, what a plague is an obstinate daughter ! 

Sighing and whining, 

Dying and pining, 
Oh, what a plague is an obs'.inate daughter ! 

When scarce in their teens, they have wit to perplex us, 
With letters and lovers forever they vex us ; 
While each still rejects the fair suitor you've brought 
Oh, what a plague is an obstinate daughter ! [her ; 

Wrangling and jangling, 

Flouting and pouting. 
Oh, what a plague is an obstinate daughter ? 

When sable Night, each drooping plant restoring, 

Wept o'er the flowers her breath did cheer, 
As some sad widow o'er her babe deploring. 

Wakes its beauty with a tear ; 
When all did sleep, whose weary hearts did borrow 

One hour from love and care to rest, 
Lo ! as I pressed my couch in silent sorrow, 
My lover caught me in his breast ; 
He vowed he came to save me 
From those who would enslave me ! 
Then kneeling. 
Kisses stealing. 
Endless faith he swore ; 

But soon I chid him thence, 
For had his fond pretence 
Obtain'd one favour then. 
And had he press'd again, 
I fear'd my treacherous heart might grant him more. 



42 SHERIDAN. 

Had I a heart for falsehood framed 

I ne'er could injure you ; 
For though your tongue no promise claim'd, 

Your charms would make me true. 

To you no soul shall bear deceit, 

No stranger offer wrong ; 
But friends in all the aged you'll meet, 

And lovers in the young. 

But when they learn that you have blest 

Another with your heart, 
They'll bid aspiring passion rest. 

And act a brother's part. 

Then, lady, dread not here deceit, 

Nor fear to suffer wrong ; 
For friends in all the aged you'll meet, 

And brothers in the young. 

* * * * * 

Give Isaac the nymph who no beauty can boast. 
But health and good humour to make her his toast ; 
If straight, I don't mind whether slender or fat; 
And six feet or four, we'll ne'er quarrel for that. 

Whate'er her complexion, I vow I dont care ; 
If brown it is lasting — more pleasing if fair : 
And though in her face I no dimples should see, 
Let her smile, and each dell is a dimple to me. 

Let her locks be the reddest that ever were seen. 
And her eyes may be e'en any colour but green ; 
For in eyes, though so various the lustre and hue, 
I swear I've no choice — let her only have two. 

'Tis true I'd dispense with a throne on her back, 
And white teeth I own are genteeler than black j 



SHERIDAN. 



43 



A little round chin too's a beauty, I've heard ; 
But I only desire she mayn't have a beard. 

^ * ^ * * 

When a tender maid 
Is first essay 'd 
By some admiring swain, 
How her blushes rise 
If she meet his eyes. 
While he unfolds his pain ! 
If he takes her hand — she trembles quite ! 
Touch her lips — and she swoons outright ! 
While a pit-a-pat, &c. 
Her heart avows her fright. 

But in time appear 
Fewer signs of fear ; 
The youth she boldly views : 
If her hand he grasp. 
Or her bosom clasp, 
No mantling blush ensues ! 
Then to church well pleased the lovers move. 
While her smiles her contentment prove ; 
And a pit-a-pat, &c. 
Her heart avows her love. 
■» * * ■» * 

Ah sure a pair was never seen. 

So justly formed to meet by nature ! 
The youth excelling so in mien, 
The maid in every grace of feature. 
Oh, how happy are such lovers, 
When kindred beauties each discovers I 
Eor surely she 
Was made for thee, 
And thou to bless this lovely creature ! 



44 SHERIDAN. 

So mild your looks, your children thence 

Will early learn the task of duty — 
The boys with all their father' sense, 
The girls with all their mother's beauty ! 
Oh how happy to inherit 
At once such graces and such spirit I 
Thus while you live 
May fortune give 
Each blessing equal to your merit ! 
^ « « ■* » 

A bumper of good liquor 
Will end a contest quicker 
Than justice, judge, or vicar : 
So fill a cheerful glass. 
And let good humour pass. 

But if more deep the quarrel, 
Why sooner drain the barrel 
Than be the hateful fellow 
That's crabbed when he's mellow. 

A bumper &c. 
***** 
What bard, O Time, discover, 

With wings first made thee move ? 
Ah ! sure it was some lover, 

Who ne'er had left his love ! 
For who that once did prove 

The pangs which absence brings, 
Though but one day 
He were away, 
Could picture thee with wings ? 
What bard, Slc. 



45 



O had my love ne'er smiled on me, 

I ne'er had known such anguish ; 
But think how false, how cruel she, 

To bid me cease to languish ; 
To bid me hope her hand to gain. 

Breathe on a flame half perished ; 
And then with cold and fix'd disdain, 

To kill the hope she cherish'd. 

Not worse his fate, who on a wreck. 

That drove as winds did blow it. 
Silent had left the shatter'd deck, 

To find a grave below it ; 
Then land was cried — no more resign'd. 

He glow'd with joy to hear it ; 
Not worse his fate, his woe, to find 

The wreck must sink ere near it ! 

TV -» * W * 

Soft pity never leaves the gentle breast 
Where love has been received a welcome guest ; 
As wandering saints poor huts have sacred made, 
He hallows every heart he once has sway'd ; 
And when his presence we no longer share, 
Still leaves compassion as a relic there. 

* * * * » 

Oh the days when I was young. 

When I laugh'd in fortune's spite ; 
Talk'd of love the whole day long, 

And with nectar crown 'd the night ! 
Then it was, old father Care, 

Little reck'd I of thy frown ; 
Half thy malice youth could bear. 
And the rest a bumper drown. 



46 SHERIDAN. 

Truth, they say, lies in a well, 

Why, I vow I ne'er could see; 
Let the water-drinkers tell, 

There it always lay for me : 
For when sparkling wine went round, 

Never saw I falsehood's mask ; 
But still honest truth I found 

At the bottom of each flask. 

True at length my vigour's flown, 
I have years to bring decay ; 
Few the locks that now I own, 
And the few I have are gray. 
Yet old Jerome, thou may'st boast, 

While thy spirits do not tire ; 
Still beneath thy age's frost 
Glows a spark of youthful fire. 

* * * * «- 

By him we love offended, 

How soon our anger flies ! 
One day apart, 'tis ended, 
Behold him, and it dies. 

Last night your roving brother 

Enraged I bade depart ; 
And sure his rude presumption 

Deserved to lose my heart. 

Yet were he now before me, 
In spite of injured pride, 

I fear my eyes would pardon 
Before my tongue could chide. 

***** 

How oft, Louisa, hast thou told, 

(Nor wilt thou the fond boast disown,) 



SHERIDAN. 47 

Thou would'st not lose Antonio's love 

To be the partner of a throne. 
And by those lips, that spake so kind, 

And by that hand, I've press'd to raine^ 
To be the lord of wealth and power, 

By Heavens, I would not part with thine ! 

Then how, my soul, can we be poor. 

Who own what kingdoms could not buy ? 
Of this true heart thou shalt be queen, 

And, serving thee, a monarch I. 
Thus uncontroll'd, in mutual bliss. 

And rich in love's exhaustless mine, 
Do thou snatch treasures from my lips, 
And I'll take kingdoms back from thine ! 
***** 
Adieu, thou dreary pile, where never dies 
The sullen echo of repentant sighs ! 
Ye sister mourners of each lonely cell. 
Inured to hymns and sorrow, fare ye well ! 
For happier scenes I fly this darksome grove^ 
To saints a prison, but a tomb to love I 
* * » * * 

This bottle's the sun of our table. 

His beams are rosy wine ; 
We planets, that are not able 
Without his help to shine. 
Let mirth and glee abound ! 
You'll soon grow bright 
With borrow'd light, 
And shine as he goes round. 

***** 
Sharp is the woe that wounds the jealous mind, 
When treachery two fond hearts would rend j 



48 SHERIDAN. 

But oh ! how keener far to find 
That traitor is thy bosom friend ! 

* * * * * 

Ah, cruel maid, how hast thou changed 

The temper of my mind ! 
My heart, by thee from love estranged, 

Becomes like thee, unkind. 

By fortune favour'd, clear in fame, 

I once ambitious was ; 
And friends I had who fanned the flame, 

And gave my youth applause. 

But now my weakness all accuse. 
Yet vain their taunts on me ; 

Friends, fortune, fame itself I'd lose, 
To gain one smile from thee. 

And only thou should'st not despise 

My weakness or my woe ; 
If I am mad in other's eyes, 

'Tis thou hast made me so. 

But days, like this, with doubting cursed, 

I will not long endure — 
Am I disdain'd — I know the worst, 

And likewise know my cure. 

If, false, her vows she dare renounce. 
That instant ends my pain ; 

For, oh ! the heart must break at once. 
That cannot hate again. 



SHERIDAN. 49 



S'ONGS IN THE PANTOMIME OF " HARLEQUIN 
FORTUNATUS." 

Wlien 'tis night, and the mid-watch is come, 

And chilling mists hang o'er the darken'd main. 
Then sailors think of their far distant home, 

And of those friends they ne'er may see again : 
But when the fight's begun. 
Each serving at his gun, 
Should any thought of them come o'er our mind, 

We think but, should the day be won. 
How 'twill cheer the>r hearts to hear 

That their old companion he was one. 

Or, my lad, if you a mistress kind 

Have left on shore, some pretty girl and true, 
Who many a night doth listen to the wind, 

And wakes to think how it may fare with you ; 
O ! when the fight's begun, 
Each serving at his gun, 
Should any thought of her come o'er your mind, 

Think only, should the day be won. 
How 'twill cheer her heart to hear 

That her own true sailor, he was one. 
* * * * 

Cheerly, my hearts, of courage true i 

The hour's at hand to try your worth ; 
A glorious peril waits for you, 

And valour pants to lead you forth : 
Mark where the enemy's colours fly, boys ; 
There some shall conquer, and some must die, boys: 

D 

WESTEKN R^'^-^ • 



50 SHERIDAN. 

But that appals not you or me, 
For our watch- word it shall be, 
'• Britons, strike home !" 
Ckomis. 
" Britons, strike home ! revenge your country's 
wrong!" 

When rolling mists their march shall liide, 

At dead of night a chosen band, 
Listening to the dashing tide. 

With silent tread shall print the sand : 
Then where the Spanish colours fly, boys, 
We'll scale the walls, or bravely die, boys ; 
For we are Britons bold and free, 
And our watch-word, it shall be, 
" Britons, strike home !" &c. 

The cruel Spaniard, then too late, 

Dismay 'd shall mourn the' avenging blow, 
Yet, vanquish'd meet the milder fate 

Which mercy grants a fallen foe. 
Thus shall the British banners fly, boys. 
On yon proud turrets raised on high, boys ; 
And while the gallant flag we see, 
We'll swear our watch-word still shall be, 
" Britons, strike home !" «§6c. 

SONG FROM THE TRAGEDY OF "PIZARRO." 

Yes, yes, be merciless, thou Tempest dire 1 
Unaw'd, unshelter'd, I thy fury brave : 

I'll bare my bosom to thy forked fire. 
Let it but guide me to Alonzo's grave ! 

O'er his pale corse then, while thy lightnings glare, 
I'll press his clay-cold lips, and perish there. 



SHERIDAN. 51 

But thou wilt wake again, my boy ; 
Again thou'lt rise to life and joy 

Thy father never ! 

Thy laughing eyes will meet the light 
Unconscious that eternal night 

Veils his for ever ! 
On yon green bed of moss there lies my child, 
Oh ! safer lies from these chill'd arms apart; 
He sleeps, sweet lamb ! nor heeds the tempest wild, 
Oh ! sweeter sleeps than near this breaking heart. 

Alas ! my babe, if thou wouldst peaceful rest, 
Thy cradle must not be thy mother's breast. 

Yet thou wilt wake again, my boy ; 
Again thou'lt rise to life and joy 

Thy father never ! 

Thy laughing eyes will meet the light, 
Unconscious that eternal night 

Veils his for ever ! 

SONG FROM THE DRAMA OF/'THE STRANGER." 

I have a silent sorrow here, 

A grief I'll ne'er impart ; 
It breathes no sigh, it slieds no tear, 

But it consumes my heart ! 
This cherish'd woe, this loved despair, 

My lot for ever be ; 
So, my soul's lord, the pangs I bear 

Be never known to thee ! 

And when pale characters of death 
Shall mark this alter'd cheek ; 



52 SHERIDAN. 

When my poor trembling wasted breath 
My life's last hope would speak ; 

I shall not raise my eyes to heaven, 
Nor mercy ask for me ; 

My soul despairs to be forgiven, 
Unpardon'd, love, by thee ! 

SONG,* 

Think not, my love, when secret grief 

Preys on my sadden'd heart. 
Think not I wish a mean relief. 

Or would from sorrow part. 

Dearly I prize the sighs sincere, 

That my true fondness prove ; 
Nor would I wish to check the tear 

That flows from hapless love ! 

Alas ! though doom'd to hope in vain 

The joys that love requite, 
Yet will I clierish all its pain, 

With sad, but dear delight. 

This treasured grief, this loved despair 

My lot for ever be ; 
But, dearest, may the pangs I bear 

Be never known to thee ! 

* This song is believed to have been addressed to 
Miss Linley, afterwards Mrs. Sheridan. It was set 
to music by her brother. Mr. Sheridan subsequent- 
ly inserted the fourth stanza, slightly altered, in the 
song which precedes it in this collection. 



SHERIDAN. 53 



As shepherds through the vapours grey 

Behold the dawning Hght, 
Yet doubt it is the rising day, 

Or meteor of the night ; 

So varying passions in my breast, 

Its former calm destroy 

By Hope and Fear at once oppress'd, 

I tremble at my joy ! 

TRANSLATIONS FROM " THE LOVE EPISTLES OF 
ARISTjENETUS."* 

EPISTLE I. 



Aristcenetus to Phllocalus. 
Blest with a form of heavenly frame,t 
Blest with a soul beyond that form ; 

*The translation of Aristasnetus was published in 
1771, and was the joint production of Sheridan and 
his friend Halhed. The translators did not point out 
by any signature or indication the epistles which 
they respectively executed, and it is now impossible 
to ascertain the fact. The internal evidence, afforded 
by the superior spirit of the poetry and elegance of the 
versification, induces me to ascribe to Sheridan the 
specimens which are here given. The remaining epis- 
tles are of little poetical worth, and have, besides, the 
demerit of being faulty in a moral point of view. Ed. 

t In this letter Aristsenetus describes the beauties 
of his mistress to his friend. This description differs 



54 SHERIDAN. 

With more than mortal ought to claim, 

With all that can a mortal warm, 
Lais was from her birth design'd 
To charm — yet triumph o'er mankind. 
There Nature, lavish of her store. 
Gave all she could — and wished for more ; 
Whilst Venus gazed, her form was such ! 
Wondering how Nature gave so much : 
Yet added she new charms ; for she 

Could add — " a fourth bright Grace, she said, 
A fourth, beyond the other three. 

Shall raise my power in this sweet maid." 
Then Cupid, to enhance the prize. 

Gave all his little arts could reach : 
To dart Love's Language from the eyes 

He taught — 'twas all was left to teach. 

O fairest of the virgin band! 
Thou master-piece of Nature's hand ! 
So like the Cyprian queen, I'd swear, 
Her image fraught with life was there : 
But silent all : and silent be. 
That you may hear her praise from me : 
I'll paint my Lais' form ; nor aid 
I ask — for I have seen the maid. 



in one circumstance from the usual poetic analysis of 
beauty ; which is this, that (if we except the epithets, 
" ruby," '' snowy," &c. which could not well have 
been avoided) the lady it points out would be really 
beautiful : whereas, it is generally said " that a ne- 
gro would be handsome, compared to a women in 
poetical dress." 



SHERIDAN, 55 

Her cheek with native crimson glows, 
But crimson softened by the rose : 
'Twas Hebe's self bestow'd the hue ! 
Yet Health has added somethin<T too : 
But if an over-tinge there be, 
Impute it to her modesty. 
Her lips of deeper red how thin ! 
How nicely white the teeth within ! 
Her nose how taper to the tip, 
And slender as her ruby lip ! 
Her brows in arches proudly rise, 
As conscious of her powerful eyes : 
Those eyes, majestic black, display 
The lustre of the god of day ; 
And by the contrast of the white. 
The jetty pupil shines more bright. 
There the glad Graces keep their court, 
And in the liquid mirror sport. 
Her tresses, when no fillets bind, 
Wanton luxurious in the wind : 
Like Dian's auburn locks they shone — 
But Y enus wreathed them like her own. 
Her neck, which well with snow might vie. 
Is formed with nicest symmetry; 
In native elegance secure 

The most obdurate heart to wound ; 
But she, to make her conquests sure, 

With sparkling gems bedecks it round ; 
With gems, that, ranged in order due,* 
Present the fair one's name to view. 

* This conceit was formerly reckoned a peculiar 
elegance in a lady's dress. 



56 SHERlDAPr, 

Her light-spun robes in every part 
Are fashion'd with the nicest art, 
To' improve her stature, and to grace 
The polish'd hmbs which they embrace- 
How beautiful she looks when drest ! 

But view her freed from this disguise. 
Stripped of the' unnecessary vest — 

'Tis Beauty's self before your eyes. 

How stately doth my Lais go ! 
With studied step, composedly slow, 
Superb, as some tall mountain fir, 
Whom Zephyr's wing doth slightly stir r 
(For surely Beauty is allied 
By Nature very near to Pride.) 
The groves indeed mild breezes move, 
But her the gentler gales of Love. 
From her the pencil learns its die — 
The rosy lip, the sparkling eye ^ 
And bids the pictured form assume 
Bright Helen's mien, and Hebe's bloom. 
But how shall I describe her breast ! 

That now first swells with panting throb 
To burst the fond embracing vest. 

And emulate her snow-white robe. 
So exquisitely soft her limbs ! 
That not a bone but pliant seems; 
As if the' embrace of love so warm 
Would quite dissolve her beauteous form. 
But when she speaks !— good Heavens ! e'en now 

Methinks I hear my favourite song ; 
E'en yet with love's respect I bow 

To all the' enchantment of her tongue. 



SHERIDAN. 



57 



Her voice most clear — yet 'tis not strong ; 
Her periods /m^Z— though seldom long — 
With wit, good-natured wit, endowed ; 
Fluent her speech — but never loud. 
Witness, ye Loves ! witness ; for well I know 

To her you've oft attention given ; 
Oft pensive flutter'd on your wings of snow 

To waft each dying sound to heaven. 

Ah ! sure this fair enchantress found 
The zone which all the Graces bound : 
Not Momus could a blemish find, 
Or in her person or her mind. 
But why should Beauty's goddess spare 
To me this all-accomplished fair .'' 
I for her charms did ne'er decide,* 
As Paris erst on lofty Ide ; 
I pleased her not in that dispute ; 
I gave her not the golden fruit : 
Then why the Paphian queen so free ? 
Why grant the precious boon to me ^ 
Venus ! what sacrifice, what prayer, 

Can show my thanks for such a prize ? 
To bless a mortal with a fair 

Whose charms are worthy of the skies .^ 

She too, like Helen, can inspire 
The' unfeeling heart of age with fire ;t 
Can teach their lazy blood to move, 
And light again the torch of love : 
'' O ! (cry the old) that erst such charms 
Had bloom' d to bless our youthful arms ; 

*This alludes to the well-known contest between 
Juno, Venus, and Minerva, for the golden apple. 
tVide Homer's Iliad. 

p3 



58 SHERIDAN. 

Or that we now were young, to show 
How ice could love some years ago !" 

Have I not seen the' admiring throng 
For hours attending to her song ? 
Whilst from her eyes such lustre shone 
It added brightness to their own : 
Sweet grateful beams of thanks they'd dart, 
That showed the feelings of her heart. 
Silent we've sat, with rapturous gaze ! 
Silent — but all our thoughts were praise : 
Each turned with pleasure to the rest ; 
And this the prayer that warm'd each breast : 

" Thus may that lovely bloom for ever glow ! 

Thus may those eyes for ever shine ! 
O may'st thou never feel the scourge of woe ! 

O never be misfortune thine ! 
Ne'er may the crazy hand of pining care 

Thy mirth and youthful spirits break ! 
Never come sickness, or love-cross'd despair, 

To pluck the roses from thy cheek ! — 
But bliss be thine — The cares which love supplies 

Be all the cares that you shall dread ; 
The grateful drop, now gUstening in your eyes, 

Be all the tears you ever shed !" 

But hush'd be now thy amorous song, 
And yield a theme thy praises wrong : 
Just to her charms, thou canst not raise 
Thy notes — but must I cease to praise .? 
Yes — I lolll cease — for she'll inspire 
Again the lay, who strung my lyre. 
Then fresh I'll paint the charming maid. 

Content if shemy strain approves; 



SHERIDAN. 



59 



Again my lyre shall lend its aid, 
And dwell upon the theme it loves. 

EPISTLE III. 
THE GARDEN OF PHYLLION.* 

Philoplatanus to AnthocoTnt. 
Blest was my lot — ah ! sure Hwas bliss, my friend, 
The day — by heavens ! the live-long day to spend 
With Love, and my Limona ! — Hence ! in vain 
Would mimic Fancy bring those scenes again ! 
In vain delighted Memory tries to raise 
My doubtful song, and aid my will to praise ! 
In vain ! Nor Fancy strikes, nor Memory knows 
The little springs from whence those joys arose. 
Yet come, coy Fancy, — sympathetic maid ! 
Yes — I will ask, I will implore thy aid : — 
For I would tell my friend whate'er befell; 
Whate'er I saw, whate'er I did, I'll tell — 
But what I felt — sweet Venus ! there inspire 
My lay, or wrap his soul in all thy fire ! 

Bright rose the morn, and bright remain'd the day ; 
The mead was spangled with the bloom of May : 

* This is surely a most elegant descriptive pastoral, 
and hardly inferior to any of Theocritus. The images 
are all extremely natural and simple, though the ex- 
pression is glowing and luxurious : they are selected 
from a variety of Greek authors, but chiefly from the 
Phaedon of Plato. What intersertion there may be, 
have been before apologized for ; but their detection 
shall be left to the sagacity or inquisition of the 
reader. The case is the same with the first Epistle, 
^pd indeed with most of them, 



60 SHERIDAN. 

We on the bank of a sweet stream were laid, 
With blushing rose and lowly violets spread : 
Fast by our side a spreading plane-tree grew, 
And waved its head, that shone with morning dew. 
The bank acclivious rose, and swelFd above — 
The frizzled moss a pillow for my love. 
Trees with their ripen'd stores glow'd all around ; 
The loaded branches bowed upon the ground. 
Sure the fair virgins of Pomona's train 
In those glad orchards hold their fertile reign. 
The fruit nectareous, and the scented bloom 
Wafted on Zephyr's wing their rich perfume. 
A leaf I bruised* — what grateful scents arose ! 
Ye gods ! what odours did a leaf disclose ! 
Aloft, each elm slow waved its dusky top ; 
The willing vine embraced the sturdy prop ; 
And while we stray 'd the ripen'd grape to find, 
Around our necks the clasping tendrils twined ; 
I with a smile would tell the entangled fair, 
I envied even the vines a lodging there ; 
Then twist them off, and soothe with amorous play 
Her breasts, and kiss each rosy mark away. 
Cautious Limona trod — her step was slow — 
For much she feared the skulking fruits below ; 
Cautious — lest haply she, with slippery tread. 
Might tinge her snowy feet with vinous red. 
Around, with critic glance, we viewed the store, 
And oft rejected what we'd praised before ; 

* Nothing can be more rural, and at the same 
time forcible, than this image ; where the universal 
fragrance of the spot is not expatiated on, but 
marked at once by this simple specimen. 



SHERIDAN. 61 

This would my love accept, and this refuse — 
For varied plenty puzzled us to choose — 
''Here may the bunches, tasteless, immature,^ 
Unheeded learn to blush, and swell secure ; 
In richer garb yon turgid clusters stand, 
And glowing purple tempts the plundering hand. 
Then reach them down (she said), for you can reach, 
And cull with daintiest hand, the best of each." 
Pleased I obeyed, and gave my love — while she 
Returned sweet thanks, and pick'd the best for me — 
'Twas pleasing sure — yet I refused her suit, 
But kiss'd the liberal hand that held the fruit. 

Hard by, the ever-jovial harvest train 
Hail the glad season of Pomona's reign ; 
With rustic song, around her fane they stand, 
And lisping children join the choral band. 
They, busily intent, now strive to aid, 
Now first they're taught the' hereditary trade ; 
'Tis theirs to class the fruits in order due. 
For pliant rush to search the meadow through ; 
To mark if chance unbruised a wind-fall drop : 
Or teach the infant vine to know its prop. 
And haply too some aged sire is there, 
To check disputes and give to each his share ; — 
With feeble voice their little work he cheers, 
Smiles at his toil, and half forgets his years — 
" Here let the pippin, fretted o'er with gold, 
In fostering straw defy the winter's cold ; 
The hardier russet here will safely keep. 
And dusky rennet, with its crimson cheek : 
But mind, my boys, the mellow pear to place 
In soft inclosure, with divided space ; 
And mindful most, how lies the purple plumb. 
Nor soil with heedless touch, its native bloom «" 



62 SHERIDAN. 

Intent they listen'd to the' instructing lord — 
But most intent to glean their own reward. 

Now turn my loved Limona, turn and view 
How changed the scene ! how elegantly new ! 
Mark how yon vintager enjoys his toil ; 
Glows with flush red, and Bacchanalian smile : 
His slippery sandals burst the luscious vine 
And splash alternate in the new-born wine. 
Not far the labouring train, whose care supplies 
The trodden press, and bids fresh plenty rise — 
The teeming boughs, that bend beneath their freight, 
One busy peasant eases of the weight ; 
One climbs to where the' aspiring summits shoot ; 
Beneath a hoary sire receives the fruit. 

Pleased we admired the jovial bustling throng, 
Blest even in toil ! — but we admired not long. 
For calmer joys we left the busy scene, 
And sought the thicket and the stream again : 
For sacred was the fount, and all the grove 
Was hallowed kept, and dedicate to love. 
Soon gentle breezes, freshen'd from the wave, 
Our temples fanned, and whispered us to lave. 
The stream itself seem'd murmuring at our feet 
Sweet invitation from the noon-day heat — 
We bathed — and while we swam, so clear it flow'd, 
That every limb the crystal mirror shewed. 
But my love's bosom oft deceived my eye, 
Resembling those fair fruits that glided by ; 
For when I thought her swelling breast to clasp, 
An apple met my disappointed grasp.* 

* This allusion seems forced ; but the ancients 
had an apple, which came from Cydon, a town of 
Crete, and was called Cydonian, that, from its si?e 



SHERIDAN. 63 

Delightful was the stream itself— I swear, 

By those glad nymphs who make the founts their care, 

It 2cas delightful ! — but more pleasing still 

When sweet Limona sported in the rill : 

For her sofit blush such sweet reflection gave, 

It tinged with rosy hues the pallid wave. 

Thus, thus delicious was the murmuring spring ; 

Nor less delicious the cool zephyr's wing ; 

Which mild allay'd the sun's meridian power. 

And swept the fragrant scent from every flower : 

A scent that feasted my transported sense, 

Like that, Limona's sweet perfumes dispense : 

But still, my love, superior thine I swear — 

At least thy partial lover thinks they are. 

Near where we sat full many a gladdening sound, 
Beside the rustling breeze, was heard around : 
The little grasshopper essay'd its song. 
As if 'twould emulate the feather' d throng : 
Still lisp'd it uniform — yet now and then 
It something chirped, and skipped upon the green. 
Aloft the sprightly warblers filled the grove ; 
Sweet native melody ! sweet notes of love ! 
While nightingales their artless strains essayed. 
The air, methought, felt cooler in the glade. 
A thousand feather'd throats the chorus joined. 
And held harmonious converse with mankind. 
Still in mine eye the sprightly songsters play ; 
Sport on the wing, or twitter on the spray : 



and beautiful colour, might be said to resemble a 
woman's breast ; and the allusion is frequent in the 
old poets. In the eighteenth of these Epistles we 
meet with the Kvdioviov iicyur. 



64 SHERIDAN, 

On foot alternate rest their little limbs, 
Or cool their pinions in the gliding streams. 
Surprise the worm, or sip the brook aloof, 
Or watch the spider weave his subtile woof — 
We the mean time discoursed in whispers low, 
Lest haply speech disturb the rural show. 

Listen — Another pleasure I display, 
That helped delightfully the time away. 
From distant vales, where bubbles from its source 
A crystal rill, they dug a winding course : 
See ! through the grove a narrow lake extends, 
Crosses each plot, to each plantation bends ; 
And while the fount in new meanders glides. 
The forest brightens with refreshing tides. 
Towards us they taught the new-born stream to flow, 
Towards us it crept irresolute and slow : 
Scarce had the infant current trickled by, 
When lo ! a wondrous fleet attracts our eye : * 
Laden with draughts might greet a monarch's tongue , 
The mimic navigation swam along. — 
Hasten ye ship-like goblets, down the vale. 
Your freight a flagon, and a leaf your sail ! t 

* This is an exceedingly pretty image. The wa- 
ter-bailiff" dug a small water-course, which came by 
the feet of these people in the garden ; and the stream 
had scarce passed by them when the servants sent 
down several drinking vessels in the shape of ships ; 
which held warm liquor so nicely tempered, that the 
coolness of the water which encompassed it in its 
passage , was just sufficient to render it palatable when 
it arrived at the port of destination. 

t In the original, this luxurious image is pursued 
so far, that the very leaf, which is represented as the 



SHERIDAN. 65 

O may no envious rush thy course impede, 
Or floating apple stop thy tide-borne speed ! 
His mildest breath a gentle zephyr gave ; 
The little vessels trimly stemmed the wave : 
Their precious merchandize to land they bore, 
And one by one resign'd the balmy store. 
Stretch but a hand, we boarded them, and quaffed 
With native luxury the temper'd draught. 
For where they loaded the nectareous fleet. 
The goblet glowed with too intense a heat ; 
Cool'd by degrees hi these convivial ships, 
With nicest taste it met our thirsty lips. 

Thus in delight the flowery path we trod 
To Venus sacred, and the rosy god : 
Here might we kiss, here Love secure might reign, 
And revel free, with all his amorous train — 
And we did kiss, my friend, and Love was there. 
And smoothed the rustic couch that held my fair. 
Like a spring mead * with scented blossoms crown'd, 
Her head with choicest wreaths Limona bound : 
But Love, sweet Love ! his sacred torch so bright 
Had fanned, that, glowing from the rosy light, 
A blush — (the print of a connubial kiss, 
The conscious tatler of consummate bliss) — 
Still flushed upon her cheek ; and well might show 
The choicest wreaths she made, how they should glow; 

sail of a vessel, is particularised as of a medicinal 
nature, capable of preventing any ill effects the wine 
might produce. 

*The word Asulojv signifies a meadow : and the 
author takes occasion to play upon it, by saying, that 
Limona crowned herself with these flowers, to look 
like the meadow in which they grew. 



66 SHERIDAN. 

Might every flower with kindred bloom o'erspread, 
And tinge the vernal rose with deeper red. 

But come, my friend, and share my happy lot ; — 
The bounteous Phyllion owns this blissful spot : 
Phyllion, whose generous care to all extends, 
And most is blest while he can bless his friends. 
Then come, and quickly come ; but with thee bring 
The nymph whose praises oft I've heard thee sing — 
The blooming Myrtala; she'll not refuse 
To tread the solitude her swain shall choose. 
Thy sight will all my busy schemes destroy ; 
I'll dedicate another day to joy ; 
When social converse shall the scene improve, 
And sympathy bestow new charms on love, 
Then shall the' accustomed bank a couch be made ; 
Once more the nodding plane shall lend its shade ; 
Once more I'll view Pomona's jovial throng ; 
Once more the birds shall raise the sprightly song ; 
Again the little stream be taught to flow ; 
Again the little fleet its balm bestow ; 
Again I'll gaze upon Limona's charms, 
And sink transported in her quivering arms ; 
Again my cheek shall glow upon her breast ; 
Again she'll yield, and I again be blessed. 

EPISTI.E X.* 
ACONTIUS AND CYDIPPE. 

Eratoclea to Dionysis 

Long buffeted by adverse fate, 
The victim of Diana's hate, 

* This is an epistolary narrative of the loves of 
Acontius and Cydippe. Acontius was a youth of 



SHERIDAN. 67 

At last the blest Acontius led 

Cydippe to the bridal bed. 

Ne'er had been formed by Nature's care 

So lovely, so complete a pair. 

And truth* to that belief gave rise, 

That similarities so nice, 

By destiny's impulsive act 

Each other mvitually attract. 

On fair Cydippe, Beauty's queen 

Had lavished all her magazine : 

From all her charms t the magic cest 

Reserved and freely gave the rest : 

That cest, not fit for mortal bodies, 

Her own prerogative as goddess ; 

And but for which distinction, no man 

Could know the' immortal from the woman. 

In three, like Hesiod, to comprise 

The graces sparkling in her eyes, 

Were idle ; since to count them all, 

A thousand were a sum too small. 

Nor were his eyes devoid of light. 

Bold and yet modest, sweet though bright : 

the isle of Cea, who, going to Delos during the solem- 
nities of Diana, fell in love with Cydippe, and being 
inferior to her in wealth and rank, he there practised 
the deceit which is the subject of this epistle. We 
find the story in Ovid, 

* ouo'iov aysL ■dsog wc Tov ouoior. 

t Homer tells us of this magic girdle belonging to 
Venus : which made the person who wore it the ob- 
ject of universal love, and which Juno once borrow- 
ed to deceive Jupiter. 



68 SHERIDAN. 

Whilst health and glowing vigour spread 
His downy cheek with native red. — 
Numbers from every quarter ran, 
To see this master-piece of man : 
Crowds at the forum you might meet : 
And if he did but cross the street, 
The' applauding train his steps pursued, 
And praised and wonder'd as they view'd. 

Such was the' accomplish'dyouth,whose breast 
The fair Cydippe robbed of rest. 
And 'twas but justice, that the swain 
For whom so many sigh'd in vain. 
Should feel how exquisite the smart 
That rankles in a lover's heart. — 
So Cupid, throwing to the ground 
His shafts that tickle while they wound, 
Aim'd at the youth with all his strength 
An arrow of a wonderous length : 
His aim, alas ! was all too true : 
Quick to its goal the weapon flew. — 
But when Acontius felt the blow. 
What language can express his woe ? 
The fair one's heart he vow'd to move,* 
Or end at once his life and love. 
While he who shot so keen a dart, 
The god of stratagem and art. 
Awed haply by his graceful mien. 
Taught him with wiles the fair to win. 
Thus, while at Dian's hallowed fane 
Cydippe join'd the maiden train, 

* Aut ego Sigaeos repetam, te conjuge, portus, 
Aut ego Tsenaria contegar exul humo. 

Ovid. 



SHERIDAN. 69 

Towards her attendant's feet he rolled 

(Inscribed with characters of gold) 

An apple of Cydonian stem : 

(Love's garden raised the budding gem.) 

The girl immediate seized the prize : 

Admired its colour and its size : 

Much wondering from what virgin's zone 

So fair a prisoner could have flown. 

" 'Tis sure (said she)' a fruit divine ; 

But then what means this mystic line .'' 

Cydippe, see, just now I found 

This apple ; view how large, how round : 

See how it shames the rose's bloom : 

And smell its exquisite perfume. 

And, dearest mistress, tell me, pray, 

The meaning which these words convey ?" 

The blushing fruit Cydippe eyed, 

Then read the' inscription on the side. — 

*' By chaste Diana's sacred head, 

I swear I will Acontius wed." 

Thus vowed she at the hallow'd shrine, 

Though rashly, though without design ; 

And vitter'd not for modest dread. 

The last emphatic word, to wed ; 

Which but to hear,* much more to speak, 

With blushes paints a virgin's cheek. 

" Ah !" cries the half-distracted fair, 

" Diana sure has heard me swear : 

Yes, favoured youth, without dispute 

She has assented to thy suit." 

^ Nomine conjugii dicto, confusa pudore 
Sensi me totis erubuisse genis. 

Ovid. 



70 SHERIDAN, 

He the meanwhile, from day to day, 
In ceaseless anguish pined away, — 
His tears usurped the place of sleep ; 
For shame forbade all day to weep. 
Sickly and thin his body grew : 
His cheeks had lost their ruddy hue. 
Thousand pretences would he fain, 
To loiter on the lonely plain ; 
Striving most eagerly to fly 
The keenness of his father's eye. 
Oft with the morn's first beam he 'd leave 
His tear-bathed couch ; and, to deceive 
His friends' concern, some untouch'd book. 
As studious bent, the lover took : 
Then to the grove, the peaceful grove. 
Where silence yields full scope to love. 
Thus from their hard attention freed, 
He wept unsought, yet seemd to read. 
Thither if chance his father drew. 
And bared the wanderer to his view. 
Knowledge he thought the stripling's aim, 
A laudible desire for fame ; 
And every sigh his sorrow brought. 
The old man construed into thought, 
Or if he wept — as tears tcould flow — 
He only wept at others woe. 

Still, too, when pleasant evening came, 
And others sought the frolic game. 
Still he was wont to shun the feast, 
To feign that angling pleased him best ; — 
Then busy with his rod and hook 
He sought some solitary brook. — 
But ye were safe, ye finny brood, 
And safely stemmed your native flood ; 



SHERIDAN. 7] 

Secure around his float to glide, 
And dash the' unbaited hook aside. 

Yet still 'twas solitude ; and he 
Must give his solitude a plea : 
Besides, the posture pleased, for grief 
In humblest postures finds relief: 
True love the suppliant's bend will please, 
And sorrow unrestrained is ease. 
His friends, who found he fled the town, 
Concluded him a farmer grown ; 
And called him, in derision pleasant, 
Laertes, or the new made peasant. — 
But he, sad lover ! little made 
The vines his care, or plied the spade ; 
Little he cared how sped the bower. 
And little marked the drooping flower. 
But wandering through the bushy brake, 
Thus in bewilder'd accents spake : 
'• O ! that each pine and spreading beech, 
Were blest with reason and with speech ! 
So might they evermore declare 
Cydippe fairest of the fair. 
At least, ye thickets, I will mark 
Her lovely name upon your bark. 
O dear inspirer of my pain. 
Let not thy oath be sworn in vain : 
Let not the goddess find that thou 
Hast dared to falsify a vow ! 
With vengeance every crime she threats, 
But never perjury forgets. — 
Yet not on thee the fatal meed — 
'Tis I, who caused thy crime, should bleed. — 
On me then, Dian, vent thine ire. 
And let her crime with me expire. 



72 SHERIDAN. 

But tell me, lofly groves, O tell, 
Ye seats were feather'd warblers dwell, 
Can love your knotty bosoms reach. 
And burns the cypress for the beech ? 
Ah ! — no ! — ye never feel the smart ; 
Ne'er Cupid pierced that stubborn heart. 
Think ye, your worthless leaves, ye trees, 
His mighty anger could appease.-* 
No — silly woods ! his ample fire 
Above your branches could aspire ; 
Upon the very trunk would prey, 
And burn your hardest root away." 
Meantime a happier lover's arms 
Prepared to clasp Cydippe's charms. 
Already had the virgin throng 
Attuned their Hymeneal song — 
" Strike ye now the golden lyre. 
Modulate the vocal choir." 
But hark ! what horrid shrieks arise ? 
Cydippe faints — Cydippe dies. 
The bridal pomp, alas! is fled ; 
Funereal sounds are heard instead. — 
Yet soft ! — she lives — she breathes again, 
" Louder raise the nuptial strain." 
A second time the fever burns : 
A second time her health returns. 
Again the marriage torches blaze — - 
Again Cydippe's bloom decays. 
No longer wull her sire await 
The fourth avenging stroke of fate ; 
But of the Pythian shrine demands. 
What god opposed the nuptial bands ? 
Phoebus at once revealed the truth. 
The vow, the apple, and the youth. — 



SHERIDAN. 

Told him, her oath the maid must keep, 
Or ne'er would Dian's vengeance sleep. 
Then added thus the god, '' Whene'er 
Acontius gains the blooming fair, 
JNot silver shall be join'd with lead- 
But gold the purest gold shall wed." 
So spoke the shrine divinely skilled — 
Cydippe soon her vow fulfilled ; 
No clouds of sickness intervene 
To darken the delightful scene. — 
While striking with directive hand, 
A virgin led the choral band : 
Attentive to each warbling throat, 
She chided each discordant note, 
Others their hands applausive beat, 
Like cymbals sounding as they meet. 



EPISTLE XIV. 

THE Provident shepherdess. 

Philematium to Eumusus. 

Hence ! hence ! y€ songsters, hence ! ye idle train I 
Vain is the song, the pipe's soft warbling vain \ 
In me nor joy thy strains inspire, 

Nor passion can thy numbers move ; 
The thrills of the resounding lyre 
To me are not the thrills of Love. 
For I know well to value gold aright ; 
I scorn a passion — while its gifts are light. 

* This letter is from a girl to her lovers, who court- 
ed her with music instead of money. 



74 SHERIDAN. 

Puff not your cheeks, fond youths ! dismiss the flute ! 
Hushed be the harp, the soft guitar be mute ! 
Or hie where pensive Echo sits 

Moping the lonely rocks among ; 
She'll listen to your chanting fits, 
Applaud, and pay you song for song. 
But I know well to value gold aright, 
And scorn a passion while its gifts are light. 

Do, good Charmides, stop thy tuneful tongue ; 
And, friendly Lycias, trust not to thy song. 
There is a sound — and well you know 

That sound I never heard from thee — 
The smallest clink of which, I vow, 
Is sweetest harmony to me. 
For I've been taught to value gold aright, 
And scorn a passion while its gifts are light. 

Why do your vows in tuneful numbers flow i 
Why urge the joys I do not wish to know } 
Sa,y, youth can thy poetic fire 

Make folly pleasant to the car .' 
Can thy soft notes, and soothing lyre, 
Make oaths, and lovers oaths, sincere .-' 
Go ! go ! I know to value gold aright. 
And scorn a passion while its gifts are light. 

Soft is thy note — I grant 'tis soft ; 
Sweet is thy lay — but I have heard it oft ; 
And will thy piping ne'er disgust. 

When all the novelty is past .'' 
Your stock will fail — you know it must ; 
And sweetest sounds will tire at last. 
Then now's the time to value gold aright. 
To scorn a passiori wliile its gifts are light. 



SHERIDAN. 75 

When the cold hand of age has damped thy fire, 
Unstrung thy harp, and hushed the unheeded lyre ; — 
Say will thy tuneless crazy voice 

Keep chilling penury away ? 
Will memory lead us to rejoice 

Because, poor bard, thou once could'st play ? 
No ! no ! then still I'll value gold aright, 
And still the lover scorn whose gifts are light. 

Then hence ! ye songsters, hence ye idle train ! 
Vain is the song, the pipe's soft warbling vain ! 
No idle triflings captivate this breast ; — 
Produce your money — I'll excuse the rest. 

Puff not your cheeks, fond youths ! dismiss the flute ! 
Hush'd be the harp, the soft guitar be mute ! 
Such signs of passion in contempt I hold : — 
But there's substantial proof of love — in gold ! 

I know you fancy me an easy fool. 
Raw and undisciplined in Venus' school ; 
A thoughtless victim, whom a song could move, 
And each fond lay inspire with throbs of love : 
Deluded swains ! but vain do ye opine — 
Know the whole science of intrigue is mine. 
A dame experienced in the mystic art, 
Taught me to play with ablest skill my part : 
Taught me to laugh at songs, and empty strains ; 
And taught how Cupid shone — in golden chains. 
My sister, too, and all her amorous train. 
Tutored my youth — nor were their lessons vain. 
Full oft her suitors hath she frankly told, 
" Your aim is beauty, sirs, and mine is — gold : 
Each other's wants let's mutually supply." 
'Twas thus my sister spoke, — and thus speak I. 



76 SHERIDAN. 

With her, I laugh at Cupid's batter'd name ; 
With her, I mock what fools call generous flame ; 
With her, my theme's to value gold aright, 
And scorn a passion while its gifts are light. 

EPISTLE XV. 
THE FORCE OF LOVE. 

Aphrodiskis to Lysimachus. 

Love, or offeree, or of persuasion. 
Avails him as best suits the' occasion : 
And all who've felt his tingling dart. 
Will own his conquest o'er the heart. 
Love can the thirst of blood assuage. 
And bid the battle cease to rage : 
Quell the rude discord, and compose 
To peace the most determined foes. 
Vain is the lance, and vain the shield, 
And vain the wide-embattled field; 
Vain the long military train. 
And Mars with all his terrors vain. 
Cupid his stubborn angry soul 
Can with a little shaft control. — 
Each champion, who with fury brave 
Would stem war's most destructive wave, 
Without a stroke, to love will yield, 
And quit at once his useless shield. — 
To' insure your credit to my text, 
A case in point is here annexed. 
Two cities of no mean estate, 
Miletus this, and Myus that, 
Had long in mutual conflicts bled. 
While Commerce drooped with languid head. 



77 



And only while Miletus kept 
Diana's feast the conflict slept : 
A solemn truce was then allowed : — 
At Dian's shrine each city bowed. — 
And, till the festive revels cease, 
'Twas naught but harmony and peace. 
Then gleams the hostile blade again, 
And reeking gore manures the plain. 
But Venus little could sustain 
That Discord should eternal reign; 
So closed for ever their dispute : 
And thus she found the means to do't. 
^ From Myus to Miletus came 
A girl (Pieria was her name ;) 
Bright as the morn she was by nature, 
And Venus now retouch'd each feature. 

Then, at what time the sacred train 
Attended at Diana's fane, 
The prince of the Miletians came 
And saw the maid, and felt the flame. 
And soon the prince his love addressed, 
" Speak, charmer, speak thy first request. 
Whate'er thy wish, whate'er thy want, 
Be't mine to make a double grant." 

But thee, fair maid, supreme in mind 
As well as charms o'er womankind. 
No idle choice seduced aside. 
No giddy wish, no hurtful pride : 
Thee could no costly gem ensnare, 
No trinket to adorn thy hair : 
No Carian slave didst thou request, 
No precious chain, no Tyrian vest. — 
But long didst stand with downcast eye, 
As hesitating to reply ; 



78 



SHERIDAN. 



Essaying, but in vain, to speak, , 

While blushes dyed thy modest cheek. 
At last thy faltering tongue with fear 
Thus uttered faintly in his ear, 
" Prince, to these walls give access free 
At all times for my friends and me." 
Phrygius full well perceived her drift. 
Yet nobly ratified his gift. 
A peace was soon proclaim'd around. 
And might}^ Love the treaty bound : 
A more sufficient guarantee 
Than any bonds or oaths could be. 
And this example well may prove 
That naught's so eloquent as Love : 
For oft had orators, whose style was 
Millifluent as the seer's of Pylos, * 
Convened, debated, and returned — 
While still the rage of battle burn'd. 
BM Cupid's sweeter elocution 
Brought matters quick to a conclusion. 
And hence the Ionian maids deduce 
The' expression now so much in use, 
" May we such noble presents have,] 
As erst the princely Phrygius gave ! 
And may our lords as faithful be 
As thine, Pieria, was to thee." 

DRAMATIC SPECIMENS, 

FROM THE COMEDY OF '' THE RIVALS." 

ACT II. SCENE I. 

Enter Fag. 
Sir, there is a gentleman below desires to see you- 
Shall I show him into the parlour ? 

* Nestor, famous in Homer for his eloquence. 



SHERIDAN. /» 

Jihsolute. Ay, you may. 

Jlcres. Well I must be gone 

Ahs. Stay ; who is it, Fag ? 

Fag. Your father, sir. 

Ahs. You puppy, why didn't you show him up 
directly .? [-Exii Fag. 

Acres. You have business with Sir Anthony. — 1 ex- 
pect a message from Mrs. Malaprop atmy lodgings. — 
I have sent also to my dear friend Sir Lucious O'Trig- 
ger. — Adieu, Jack, we must meet at night, when you 
shall give me a dozen bumpers to little Lydia. 

Ahs. That I will with all my heart. {Exit Acres. 
Now for a parental lecture — I hope he has heard no- 
thing of the business that has brought me here — I 
wish the gout had held him fast in Devonshire, with 
all my soul ! 

Enter Sir Anthony. 

Sir, I am delighted to see you here, and looking so 
well ! your sudden arrival at Bath made me appre- 
hensive for your health. 

Sir Anth. Very apprehensive, I dare say, Jack — 
What, are you recruiting here, hey .'' 

Ahs. Yes, sir, I am on duty. 

Sir Anth. Well Jack. I am glad to see you, though 
I did not expect it, for I v/as going to write to you 
on a little matter of business. Jack, I have been 
considering that I grow old and infirm, and shall 
probably not trouble you long. 

Ahs. Pardon me, sir, I never saw you look more 
strong and hearty ; and I pray frequently that you 
may continue so. 

Sir-.Anth. I hope your prayers may be heard witii 
all my heart. Well, then, Jack, I have been consid- 



SHERIDAN. 



ering that I am so strong and hearty ;, I may conti- 
nue to plague you a long time. Now, Jack, I am 
sensible that the income of your commission, and 
what I have hitherto allowed you, is but a small pit* 
tance for a lad of your spirit. 

Ahs. Sir, you are very good. 

Sir Jlnth. And it is my wish, while yet I live, to 
have my boy make some figure in the world. I have 
resolved, therefore, to fix you at once in a noble in- 
dependence. 

Ms. Sir, your kindness overpowers me — such ge- 
nerosity makes the gratitude of reason more lively 
,than the sensations even of filial affection. 

Sir Anth. I am glad you are so sensible of my at- 
tention — and you shall be master of a large estate in 
a few weeks. 

Abs. Let my future life, sir, speak my gratitude ; 
I cannot express the sense I have of your munifi- 
cence. Yet, sir, I presume you v/ould not wish 

me to quit the army ? 

Sir Anth. O, that shall be as your wife choose^.. 

Abs. My wife, sir ! 

Sir Anth. Ay, ay, settle that between you — settle 
that between you. 

Ahs. A wife, sir, did you say ? 

Sir Anth. Ay, a wife ^why, did I not mention 

her before .'' 

Abs. Not a word of her, sir. 

Sir Anth. Odd so ! Imusn't forget ^cr, though. 

— Yes, Jack, the independence I was talking of is 

by a marriage the fortune is saddled with a wife 

—but I suppose that makes no difference. 
. Abs. Sir ! Sir ! — you amaze me 1 



SHEKIDAN. 81 

Sir Antli. Why, what the devil's the matter with 
the fool ? Just now you were all gratitude and 
duty. 

Abs. I was, sir — you talked to me of independence 
and a fortune, but not a word of a wife. 

Sir Anth. Why what difference does that make ^ 
Odds life, sir ! if you have an estate, you must take 
it with the live stock on it as it stands. 

Ahs. If my happiness is to be the price, I must 

beg leave to decline the purchase. Pray, sir, who 

is the lady .? 

Sir Anth. What's that to you, sir } — Come, give 
me your promise to love, and to marry her directly. 

Ahs. Sure, sir, this is not very reasonable, to sum- 
mon my affection for a lady I know nothing of ! 

Sir Anth. I am sure, sir, 'tis more unreasonable in 
you to object to a lady you know nothing of. 

Ahs. Then, sir, I must tell you plainly, my inclina- 
tions are fixed on another my heart is engaged 

to an angel. 

Sir Anth. Then pray let it send an excuse — it is 

very sory but busiriess prevents its waiting on 

her. 

Ahs. But my vows are pledged to her. 

Sir Anth. Let her foreclose, Jack; let her fore- 
close ; they are not worth redeeming ; besides, you 
have an angel's vows in exchange, I suppose, so 
there can be no loss there. 

Abs. You must excuse me, sir, if I tell you, once 
for all, that in this point I cannot obe}^ you. 

Sir Anth. Hark'ee, Jack ; — I have heard you for 
some time with patience — I have been cool — ^^quite 
cool ; but take care — you know I am compliance 
itself— when I am not thwarted — no one more easily 

e2 



82 • SHERIDAN. 

led — when I have my own way — but don't put me 
in a phrenzy. 

Ms. Sir, I must repeat it — in this I cannot obey 
you. ^ 

Sir Anth. Now d — n me if ever I call you Jack 
again while I live ! 

Ahs. Nay, sir, but hear me. 

Sir Anth. Sir, I wont hear a word — not a word ! 
not one word ! so give your promise by a nod — and 
I'll tell you what Jack — I mean you dog — if you 
don't, by 

Ahs. What, sir, promise to link myself to some 
mass of ugliness ! to 

Sir Anth. Z — ds ! sirrah ! the lady shall be as ugly 
as I choose ; she shall have a hump on each shoul- 
der ; she shall be as crooked as the cresent ; her 
one eye shall roll like the bull's in Cox's museum ; 
she shall have a skin like a mummy, and the beard 
of a Jew — she- shall be all this, sirrah ! — yet I will 
make you ogle her all day, and sit up all night to 
to write sonnets on her beauty. 

Ahs. This is reason and inoderation indeed ! 

Sir Anth. None of your sneering, puppy ! no 
grinning, jackanapes ! 

Ahs. Indeed, sir, I never was in a worse humour 
for mirth in my life. 

Sir Anth. 'Tis false, I know you are laughing in 
your sleeve ; I know you'll grin when I am gone, 
sirrah ! 

Ahs. I hope I know my duty better. 

Sir Anth. None of your passion, sir ! none of your 
violence, if you please — it wont do with me, I prom- 
ise you. 

Ahs. Indeed, sir, I never was cooler in my life. 



SHERIDAN. 



83 



Sir Anth. 'Tis a confounded lie ! I know you 
are in a passion in your heart ; I know you are, you 
hypocritical young dog ! but it won't do. 

Ahs. Nay, sir, upon my word. 

Sir Anth. So you will fly out ! Can't you be cool 
like me .'' What the devil good can passion do 
Passion is of no service, you impudent, insolent, 

overbearing reprobate. There you sneer again ! — 

don't provoke me I — but you rely upon the mild- 
ness of my temper — you do, you dog ! you play upon 
the meekness of my disposition : Yet take care — the 
patience of a saint may be overcome at last ! — but 
mark ! I give you six hours and a half to consider of 
this; if you then agree, without any condition, to 
do every thing on earth that I choose, why, confound 
you ! I may in time forgive you — if not, z — ds ! 
don't enter the same hemisphere with me ! don't dare 
to breathe the same air, or use the same light with 
me ; but get an atmosphere and a sun of your own ! 
I'll strip you of your commission ; I'll lodge a five- 
and-threepence in the hands of trustees, and you 
shall live on the interest. I'll disown you, I'll dis- 
inherit you, I'll unget you ! and d — n me ! if ever I 
call you Jack again ! [Exit Sir Anthony. 

Absolute, solvs. 

Ahs. Mild, gentle, considerate father — I kiss your 
hands ! What a tender method of giving his opinion 
in these matters Sir Anthony has ! I dare not trust 
him with the truth. I wonder what old wealthy hag 
it is that he wants to bestow on me ! — yet he married 
himself for love ! and was in his youth a bold in- 
triguer, and a gay companion ! 



84 SHERIDAN. 

Enter Fag. 

Fag. Assuredly, sir, your father is wroth to a de- 
gree ; he comes down stairs eight or ten steps at a 
time — muttering, growhng, and thumping the ban- 
isters all the way : I and the cook's dog stand bow- 
ing at the door — rap ! he gives me a stroke on the 
head with his cane ; bids me take that to my mas- 
ter ; then kicking the poor turnspit into the area, 
d — ns us for a puppy triumvirate ! Upon my cred- 
it, sir, were I in your place, and found my father 
such very bad company, I should certainly drop his 
acquaintance. 

Ahs. Cease your impertinence, sir, at present. — 
Did you come in for nothing more ^ — Stand out of 
the way ! [Pushes him aside, and exit. 

Fag, solus. 

Fag. Soh ! Sir Anthony trims my master : he is 
afraid to reply to his father — then vents his spleen 
on poor Fag I — When one is vexed by one person, 
to revenge one's self on another, who happens to 
come in the way, is the vilest injustice ! Ah ! it 
shows tlie worst temper — the basest- 

Enter Errand Boy. 

Boy. Mr. Fag ! Mr. Fag ! your master calls you. 

Fag. Well ! you little dirty puppy, you need not 
bawl so ! The meanest disposition ! the 

Boy. Quick, quick, Mr. Fag. 

Facr. Quick ! quick I you impudent jackanapes ! 
am I to be commanded by you too .'' you little im- 
pertinent, insolent, kitchen-bred 

[Exit, kicking and heating him. 



SHERIDAN. 85 

ACT III. SCENE I. 

Enter Absolute. 

Ms. 'TisjustasFagtold me, indeed. — Whimsical 
enough, faith ! My father wants to force me to marry 
the very girl I am plotting to run away with ! — He 
must not know of my connexion with her yet a while. 
He has too summary a method of proceeding in these 
matters. — However, I'll read my recantation instant- 
ly. — My conversion is something sudden, indeed — 

but I can assure him it is very sincere. So, so, — 

here he comes. — He looks plaguy gruff. [Steps aside. 

Enter Sir Anthony. 

Sir Anth. No, — I'll die sooner than forgive him. 
— Die, did I say ? I'll live these fifty years to plague 
him. — At our last meeting, his impudence had almost 
put me out of temper. — An obstinate, passionate, 
self-willed boy ! — Who can he take after ? This is 
my return for getting him before all his brothers and 
sisters ! — for putting him, at twelve years old, into a 
marching regiment, and allowing him fifty pounds a 
year, besides his pay, ever since ! — But I have done 
with him ; — he's anybody's son for me. — I never will 
see him more, — never — never — never — never. 

Abs. Now for a penitential face. [Aside. 

Sir Anth. Fellow, get out of my way. 

Abs. Sir, you see a penitent before you. 

Sir Anth. I see an impudent scoundrel before me. 

Abs. A. sincere penitent. — I am come, sir, to ac- 
knowledge my error, and to submit entirely to your 
will. 

Sir Anth. What's that .? 

Abs. I have been revolving, and reflecting, and 



86 SHERlt>AN. 

considering on your past goodness, and kindness, 
and condescension to nie. 

Sir Anth. Well, sir? 

Ahs. I have been likewise weighing and balancing 
what you were pleased to mention concerning duty, 
and obedience, and authority. 

Sir Anth. Well, puppy? 

Ahs. Why then, sir, the result of my reflection is 
— a resolution to sacrifice every inclination of my 
own to your satisfaction. 

Sir Anth. Why now you talk sense— absolute sense 
— I never heard any thing more sensible in my life. 
— Confound you ! you shall be Jack again. 

Als. I am happy in the appellation. 

Sir Anth. Why then, Jack, my dear Jack, I will 
now inform you who the lady really is. — Nothing but 
your passion and violence, you silly fellow, prevent- 
ed my telling you at first. Prepare, Jack, for won- 
der and rapture — prepare. — What think you of Miss^ 
Lydia Languish ? 

Abs. Languish ? What, the Languishes of Wor- 
cestershire ? 

Sir Anth. Worcestershire ! No. Did you never 
meet Mrs. Malaprop and her niece, Miss Languish, 
who came into our country just before you were last 
ordered to your regiment ? 

Abs. Malaprop ! Languish ! I don't remember 
ever to have heard the names before. Yet, stay — 1 
think I do recollect something. — Languish! Lan- 
guish ! she squints, don't she ? — A little red-haired 
girl ? 

Sir Anth. Squints ! — A red-haired girl ! — Z — ds ! 



SHERIDAN. 87 

Ms. Then I must have fcrgot; it can't be the 
same person. 

Sir Anth. Jack ! Jack ! think of blooniiag, love- 
breathing seventeen ! 

Ahs. As to that, sir, I am quite indifferent.-rif I 
can please you in the matter, "tis all I desire. 

Sir Anth. Nay, but, Jack, such eyes ! such eyes ! 
so innocently wild ! so bashfully irresolute ! Not a 
glance but speaks and kindles some thought of love ! 
— Then, Jack, her cheeks! her cheekf, Jack! so 
deeply blushing at the insinuationa of h^x tell-tale 
eyes! — Then, Jack, her hps smiling at their own 
discretion ; and if not smiling, more sweetly pouting ; 
more lovely in sullenness. 

Ahs. That's she indeed. — Well done, old gentle- 
man ! [Aside. 

Sir Anth. Then, Jack, her neck ! — O Jack ! Jack ! 

Ahs. And which is to be mine, sir, the niece or 
the aunt ? 

Sir Anth. Why, you unfeeling, insensible puppy, 
I despise you. When I was of your age, such a de- 
scription would have made, me fly like a rocket ! 
The aunt, indeed ! — Odds life ! when I ran away 
with your mother, I would not have touched any 
thing old or ugly to gain an empire. 

Ahs. Not to please your father, sir.'' 

Sir Anth. To please my fathe'r ! — Z — ds I not to 

please Oh, my father! — Oddso ! — yes — yes; if 

my father indeed had desired — tliat's quite another 
matter. — Though he wan't the indulgent father that 
I am. Jack. 

Abs. I dare say not, sir. 

Sir Anth. But, Jack, you are not sorry to lind 
your mistress is so beautiful? 



0(3 SHERIDAN. 

Ahs. Sir, I repeat it — if I please you in this affair, 
'tis all I desire. Not that I think a woman the worse 
for being handsome ; but, sir, if you please to recol- 
lect, you before hinted something about a hump or 
two, one eye, and a few more graces of that kind — 
now, without being very nice, I own I should rather 
choose a wife of mine to have the usual number of 
lunbs, and a limited quantity of back; and though 
one eye may be very agreeable, yet as the prejudice 
has always run in favour of hoo, I would not wish 
to affect a singularity in that article. 

Sir Anth. What a phlegmatic sot it is ! Why, 
sirrah, you're an anchorite ! — a vile insensible stock. 
— You a soldier ! — you're a walking block, fit only 
to dust the company's regimentals on ! — Odds life ! 
I've a great mind to marry the girl myself ! 

Ahs. I am entirely at your disposal, sir: if you 
should think of addressing Miss Languish yourself, 
I suppose you would have me marry the aunt ; or if 
you should change your mind, and take the old lady, 
'tis the same to me — I'll marry the 7iiece. 

Sir Anth. Upon my word, Jack, thou'rt either a 

very great hypocrite, or But, come, I know your 

indifference on such a subject must be all a lie — I'm 
sure it must. — Come, now — d — n your demure face ! 
— Come, confess. Jack — you have been lying — -ha'n't 
you.'' you have been playing the hypocrite, hey ! — 
I'll never forgive you, if you ha'n't been lying and 
playing the hypocrite. 

Ahs. I'm sorry, sir, that the respect and duty 
which I bear to you should be so mistaken. 

Sir Anth. Hang your respect and duty ! But come 
along with me ; I'll write a note to Mrs. Malaprop, 
and you shall visit the lady directly. Her eyes shall 



be the Promethean torch to you, — come along, I'll 
never forgive you, if you don't come back stark mad 
with rapture and impatience — if you don't, egad, 
I'll marry the girl myself! [Exeunt. 

ACT V. SCENE I. 

Julia, sola. 

How this message has alarmed me ! what 

dreadful accident can he mean ? why such charge to 
be alone ? — O Faulkland ! how many unhappy mo- 
ments — how many tears have you cost me I 

Enter Faulkland. 

Jul. What means this ? — why this caution, Faulk- 
land? 

Faulk. Alas ! Julia, I am come to take a long 
farewell. 

Jul. Heavens ! what do you mean ? 

Faulk. You see before you a wretch, whose life is 
forfeited. — Nay, start not ! — the infirmity of my tem- 
per has drawn all this misery on me. — I left you 
fretful and passionate — an untoward accident drew 
me into a quarrel — the event is, that I must fly this 
kingdom instantly. — O Julia, had I been so fortu- 
nate as to have called you mine entirely, before this 
mischance had fallen on me, I should not so deeply 
dread my banishment ! 

Jul. My soul is oppressed with sorrow at the nature 
of your misfortune : had these adverse circumstan- 
ces arisen from a less fatal cause, I should have felt 
strong comfort in the thought that I could now 
chase from your bosom every doubt of the warm sin- 
cerity of my love . My heart has long known no other 
guardian, — I now intrust ray person to your honour — 



90 SHERIDAN. 

we will fly together. — When safe from pursuit, ray 
father's will may be fulfilled, and I receive a legal 
claim to be the partner of your sorrows, and tender- 
est comforter. Then on the bosom of your wedded 
Julia you may lull your keen regret to slumbering ; 
while virtuous love, with a cherub's hand, shall 
smooth the brow of upbraiding thought, and pluck 
the thorn from compunction. 

Faulk. O Julia ! I am bankrupt in gratitude ! but 
the time is so pressing, it calls on you for so hasty a 
resolution. — Would you not wish some hours to 
weigh the advantages you forego, and what little 
compensation poor Faulkland can make you beside 
his solitary love ? 

Jul. I ask not a moment. — No, Faulkland, I have 
loved you for yourself: and if I now, more than ever, 
prize the solemn engagement which so long has 
pledged us to each other, it is because it leaves no 
room for hard aspersions on my fame, and puts the 
seal of duty to an act of love. — But let us not lin- 
ger. — Perhaps this delay 

Faulk. 'Twill be better I should not venture out 
again till dark. — Yet I am grieved to think what 
numberless distresses will press heavy on your gen- 
tle disposition ! 

Jul. Perhaps your fortune may be forfeited by 
this unhappy act. — I know not whether 'tis so. — 
But sure that alone can never make us unhappy. — 
The little I have will be sufficient to support us, and 
exile never shouW be splendid. 

Faulk. Ay, but in such an abject state of life, my 
wounded pride perhaps may increase the natural fret- 
fulness of my temper, till I become a rude, morose 
companion, beyond your patience to endure. Perhaps 



SHERIDAN. 91 

the recollection of the deed my conscience cannot 
justify may haunt me in such gloomy and unsocial 
fits, that I shall hate the tenderness that would re- 
lieve me, break from your arms, and quarrel with 
your fondness ! 

Jul. If your thoughts should assume so unhappy 
a bent, you will the more want some mild and af- 
fectionate spirit to watch over and console you : — 
one who, by bearing your infirmities with gentleness 
and resignation, may teach you so to bear the evils 
of your fortune. 

Fcmlk. Julia, I have proved you to the quick ! 
and with this useless device I throw away all my 
doubts. How shall I plead to be forgiven this last 
unworthy effect of my restless, unsatisfied disposi- 
tion ? 

Jul. Has no such disaster happened as you re- 
lated ? 

Faulk. I am ashamed to own that it was pretended ; 
yet in pity, Julia, do not kill me with resenting a 
fault which never can be repeated : but sealing, this 
once, my pardon, let me to-morrow, in the face of 
Heaven, receive my future guide and monitress,and 
expiate my past folly by years of tender adoration. 

Jul. Hold, Faulkland ! — that you are free from a 
crime, which I before feared to name. Heaven knows 
how sincerely I rejoice ! — These are tears of thank- 
fulness for that ! But that your cruel doubts should 
have urged you to an imposition that has wrung my 
heart gives me now a pang, more keen than 1 can 
express ! 

Faulk. By heavens ! Julia 

Jul. Yet hear me. — My father loved you, Faulk- 
land ! and you preserved the life that tender parent 



92 SHERIDAN. 

gave me ; in his presence I pledged my hand — joy- 
fully pledged it — where before I had given my heart. 
When soon after I lost that parent, it seemed to me 
that Providence had,in Faulkland, shown me whither 
to transfer, without a pause, my grateful duty as 
well as my affection ; hence I have been content to 
bear from you what pride and delicacy would have 
forbid me from another. — 1 will not upbraid you, by 
repeating how you have trifled with my sincerity. 

Fmdk. I confess it all ! yet hear 

Jul. After such a year of trial, I might have flat- 
tered myself that I should not have been insulted with 
a new probation of my sincerity, as cruel as unneces- 
sary 1 I now see it is not in your nature to be con- 
tent, or confident in love. With this conviction — I 
never will be yours. While I had hopes that my 
persevering attention, and unreproaching kindness, 
might in time reform your temper, I should have 
been happy to have gained a dearer influence over 
you ; but I will not furnish you with a licensed 
poAver to keep alive an incorrigible fault, at the ex- 
pense of one who never could contend with you. 

Faulk. Nay, but Julia, by my soul and honour,' if 
after this 

Jul. But one word more. — As my faith has once 
been given to you, I never will barter it with another. 
— I shall pray for your happiness with the truest sin- 
cerity ; and the dearest blessing I can ask of Heaven 
to send you will be to charm you from that unhappy 
temper, which alone haslprevented the performance of 
our solemn engagement. All! request ofijou is, that 
you will yourself reflect upon this infirmity , and when 
you number up the many true delights it has deprived 
you of — let it not be your least regret, that it lost you 



SHERIDAN. 93 

the love of one — who would have followed you in 
beggary through the world ! [Exit. 

Faulk. She's gone ! — for ever ! — There was an 
awful resolution in her manner that riveted me to my 
place. — O fool ! — dolt ! — barbarian ! — Curst as 1 am, 
with more imperfections tlian my fellow- wretches, 
kind Fortune sent a heaven-gifted cherub to my aid, 
and, like a ruffian, I have driven her from my side ! — 
I must now hast to my appointment. — Well, my 
mind is tuned for such a scene. — I shall wish only 
to become a principal in it, and reverse the tale my 
cursed folly put me upon forging here. — O love I — 
tormentor! — fiendl—whose influence,like the moon's, 
acting on men of dull souls, makes idiots of them, 
but meeting subtler spirits, betrays their course, and 
urges sensibility to madness ! [Exit. 

FROM " ST. Patrick's day :" a farce. 

ACT I. SCENE I. 

Enter Trounce, Flint, and four Soldiers. 

1st. Sol. I say you are wrong ; we should all 
speak together, each for himself, and all at once, 
that we may all be heard the better. 

2d. Sol. Right, Jack, we'll argue in platoons. 

3d Sol. Ay, ay ! let him have our grievances in a 
volley, and if we be to have a spokesman, there's 
the corporal is the lieutenant's countryman, and 
knows his humour. 

Cor. Let me alone for that. I served three years, 
within a bit, under his honour, in the Rqyal Innis- 
killions, and I never will see a sweeter tempered 
gentleman, nor one more free with his purse. I put 
a great shamrock in his hat this morning, and I'll be 



94 SHBR1DA5. 

bound for him he'll wear it, was it as big as Steven's 



4th Sol. I say again there you talk like youngsters, 
like militia striplings; there's a discipline, look'ee,in 
all things, whereof the sergeant must be our guide ; 
he's a gentleman of words ; he understands your fo- 
reign lingo, your figures, and such like auxiliaries in 
scoring. Confess now for a reckoning, whether in 
chalk or writing, ben't he your only man ? 

Cor. Why the sergeant is a scholar to be sure, and 
has the gift of reading. 

Serg. Good soldiers and fellow-gentlemen, if you 
make me your spokesman, you will show the more 
judgment ; and let me alone for the argument. I'll 
be as loud as a drum, and point blank from the pur- 
pose. 

All. Agreed, agreed. 

Cor. O fait ! here comes the lieutenant ; now, ser- 
geant. 

Scrg. So then, to order. — Put on your mutiny 
looks ; every man grumble a little to himself, and 
some of you hum the deserter's march. 

Enter Lieutenant. 

Lieut. Well, honest lads, what is it you have to 
complain of.'' 

Sol. Ahem ! hem ! 

Serg. So please your honour, the very grievance of 
the matter is this : — Ever since your honour differed 
with Justice Credulous, our inkeepers use us most 
scurvily. By my halbert, their treatment is such, that 
if your spirit was willing to put up with it, flesh and 
blood could by no means agree ; so we humbly peti- 
tion that your honour will make an end of the mat- 



SHERIDAN, 95 

terat once, by runningaway with the justice's daugh- 
ter, or else get us fresh quarters, — hem ! hem ! 

Lieut. Indeed? Pray which of the houses use you 
ill? 

1st. Sol. There's The Red Lion an't half the civil- 
ity of the Old Red Lion. 

2(Z Sol. There's The White Horse, if he wasn't 
case-hardened, ought to be ashamed to show his face. 

Lieut. Very well ; The Horse and The Lion shall 
answer for it at the quarter sessions. 

Serg. The Two Magpies are civil enough : but 
The Angel uses us like devils, and The Rising Sun 
refuses us light to go to bed by. 

Lievt. Then upon my word, I'll have The Rising 
Sun put down, and The Angel shall give security 
for his good behaviour ; but are you sure you do 
nothing to quit scores with them ? 

Cor. Nothing at all, your honour, unless now and 
then we happen to fling a cartridge into the kitchen 
fire, or put a spatterdash or so into the soup; and 
sometimes Ned drums up and down stairs a little of 
a night. 

Lieut. Oh, all that's fair: but hark'ee, lads, I 
must have no grumbling on St. Patrick's day ; so 
here, take this, and divide it amongst you. But ob- 
serve me now, — show yourselves men of spirit, and 
don't spend sixpence of it in drink. 

Serg. Nay, hang it,'your honour, soldiers should 
never bear malice ; we must drink St. Patrick's 
and your honour's health. 

All. Oh, d — n malice ! St. Patrick's and his hon- 
our by all means. 

Cor. Come away, then, lads, and first we'll parade 



96 SHERIDAN. 

round the Market-cross for the honour of King 
George. 

1st Sol. Thank your honour. Come along 5 St. 
Patrick, his honour, and strong beer for ever ! 

[Exit Soldiers. 

Lieut. Get along, you thoughtless vagabonds ! yet, 
upon my conscience, 'tis very hard these poor fel- 
lows can scarcely have bread from the soil they 
would die to defend. 

Enter Doctor Rosy. 

Ah, my little Doctor Rosy, my Galen-abridge ! — ' 
What's the news ? 

Doct. All things are as they were, my Alexander ; 
the justice is as violent as ever : I felt his pulse on 
the matter again, and, thinking his rage began to in- 
termit, I wanted to throw in the bark of good advice, 
but it would not do. He says you and your cut- 
throats have a plot upon his life, and swears he had 
rather see his daughter in a scarlet fever than in 
the arms of a soldier. 

Lietit. Upon my word the army is very much ob- 
liged to him. Well, then, I must marry the girl 
first, and ask his consent afterwards. 

Doct. So, then, the case of her fortune is despe- 
rate, hey .'' 

Lieut. Oh, hang fortune, — let that take its chance ; 
there is a beauty in Lauretta's simplicity, so pure a 
bloom upon her charms. 

Doct. So there is, so there is. You are for beauty 
as nature made her, hey ! No artificial graces, no 
cosmetic varnish, no beauty in grain, hey ! 

Lieui. Upon my word doctor, you are right ; the 



SHERIDAN. 97 

London ladies were always too handsome for me : then 
they are so defended ; such a circumvallation of hoop, 
with a breast-work of whale-bone, that would turn a 
pistol-bullet, much less Cupid's arrows, — then turret 
on turret on top, with stores of concealed weapons, 
under pretence of black pins, — and above all, a stand- 
ard of feathers that would do honoiir to a Knight of 
the Bath. Upon my conscience, I could as soon em- 
brace an Amazon, armed at all points. 

Doct. Right, right, my Alexander — my taste to a 
tittle. 

Lieut. Then doctor, though I admire modesty in 
women, I like to see their faces. I am for the chang- 
able rose ; but with one of these quality Amazons, if 
their midnightdissipations had left them blood enough 
to raise a blush, they have not room enough in their 
cheeks to show it. To be sure, bashfulness is a very 
pretty thing ; but in my mind, there is nothing on 
earth so impudent as an everlasting blush. 

Doct. My taste, my taste — Well, Lauretta is none 
of these — Ah ! I never see her but she puts me in 
mind of my poor dear wife. 

Lieut. Ay, faith, in my opinion she can't do a 
worse thing. Now he is going to bother me about 
an old hag that has been dead these six years. [Aside. 

Doct. Oh, poor Dolly I I shall never see her like 
again ; such an arm for a bandage — veins that seemed 
to invite the lancet. Then her skin, smooth and white 
as a gallipot ; her mouth as round and not larger than 
the mouth of a penny phial; her lips conserve cf 
roses ; and then her teeth — none of your sturdy fix- 
tures — ache as they woukl, it was but a small pull, and 
out they came, — I believe I have drawn half-a-score 
of her poor dear pearls — (iveeps) — but what avails her 



yo SHERIDAN, 

beauty ? Death has no consideration — one must die 
as well as another. 

Lieut. Oh, if he begins to moralize 

[Takes out his snuffbox. 

Doct. Fair and ugly, crooked or straight, rich or 
poor — flesh is grass — flowers fade ! 

Lieut. Here, doctor, take a pinch, and keep up 
your spirits. 

Doct. True, true, ray friend ; grief can't mend the 
matter — all's for the best ; but such a woman was a 
great loss, lieutenant. 

Lieut. To be sure, for doubtless she had mental 
accomplishments equal to her beauty. 

Doct. Mental accomplishments ! she would have 
stuffed an alligator, or pickled a lizard, with any 
apothecary's wife in the kingdom. Why, she could 
decipher a prescription, and invent the ingredients, 
almost as well as myself: then she was such a hand 
at making foreign [waters I — for Seltzer, Pyrrnont, 
Islington, or Chalybeate, she never had her equal ; 
and her Bath and Bristol springs exceeded the ori- 
ginals. — Ah, poor Dolly ! she fell a martyr to Jier 
own discoveries. 

Lieut. How so, pray ? 

Doct. Poor soul ! her illness was occasioned by her 
zeal in trying an improvement on the Spa-water, 
by an infusion of rum and acid. 

Lieut. Ay, ay, spirits never agree with water- 
drinkers. 

Doct. No, no ; you mistake. Rum agreed with her 
well enough ; it was not the rum that killed the poor 
dear creature, for she died of dropsy. Well, she 
is gone, never to return, and has left no pledge of our 
loves behind. No little babe, to hang like a label 



SHERIDAN. 99 

round papa's neck. Well, well, we are all mortal — 
sooner or later — flesh is grass — flowers fade. 

Lieut. O, the devil ! — again ! 

Doct. Life's a shadow — the world's a stage — we 
strut an hour. 

Lieut. Here, doctor. [Offers snuff. 

Doct. True, true, my friend — well, high grief can't 
cure it. All's for the best, hey, my little Alexander. 

Lieut. Right, right ; an apothecary should never 
be out of spirits. But come, faith 'tis time honest 
Humphrey should wait on the justice ; that must be 
our first scheme. 

Doct. True, true ; you should be ready ; the clothes 
are at my house, and I have given you such a char- 
acter that he is impatient to have you : he swears 
you shall be his body guard. Well, I honour the 
army or I should never do so much to serve you. 
I) Lieut. Indeed, I am bound to you for ever, doctor ; 
, and when once I am possessed of my dear Lauretta, 
I will endeavour to make work for you as fast as 
►possible. 

. Doct. Now 3'^ou put me in mind of my poor wife 
again. 

Lieut. Ah, pray forget her a little : we shall be 
too late. 

Doct. Poor Dolly ! 

Lieut. 'Tis past twelve. 

Doct. Inhuman dropsy ! 

Lieut. The justice will wait. 

Doct. Cropt in her prime ! 

Lieut. For heaven's sake, come ! 

Doct. Well, flesh is grass. 

Lieut. O, the devil ! 

Doct. We must all die 



100 SHERIDAN, 

Lieut, Doctor ! 

Doct. Kings, lords, and common whores 

[Forces him off. 

FROM THE OPERA OF " THE DUENNA." 
ACT III. SCENE VII. 

Enter Don Jerome, Servants, and Lopez. 

Jer. Be sure now let every thing be in the best 
order — letall my servants have on their merriest faces 
— but tell them to get as little drunk as possible, till 
after supper. So, Lopez where's your master .'' 
sha'n't we have him at supper ? 

Lop. Indeed, I believe not, sir — he's mad, 1 doubt ; 
I am sure he has frightened me from him. 

Jer. Ay, ay, he's after some wench I suppose ? a 
young rake ! Well, well, we'll be merry without 
him. 

'•X 

Enter Servant. *~^ 

Scrv. Sir, here is Signor Isaac. ^ 

Enter Isaac. ^ 

Jer. So, my dear son-in-law — there, take my^" 
blessing and forgiveness — But where's my daughter.'* 
where's Louisa.'' 

Isa. She's without, impatient for a blessing, but 
almost afraid to enter. 

Jer. O, fly and bring her in. (Exit Isaac.) I long 
to see her pretty face. 

Isa. (Withoxit.) Come, my charmer ! my trembling 
angel. 

Ejitcr Isaac and Duenna ; Don Jerome runs to meet 
them, she kneels. 

Jer. Come to my arms, my (Starts back.) 

Why, who the devil, have we here ? 



SHERIDAN. 



101 



Isa. Nay, Don Jerome, you promised her forgive- 
ness ; see how the poor creature droops ! 

Jer. Droops, indeed ! Why, gad take me, this is 
old Margaret — but where's my daughter, wliere's 
Louisa ? 

Isa. Why, here, before your eyes — nay, don't be 
abashed, my sweet wife ! 

Jcr. Wife, with a vengeance ! Why, zounds, you 
have not married the Duenna ! 

Duen. (Kneeling.) O, dear papa ! you'll not 
disown me, sure ! 

Jer. Papa ! papa ! Why, zounds, your impu- 
dence is as great as your ugliness ! 

Isa. Rise, my charmer ; go throw your snowy arms 
about his neck, and convince him you are 

Duen. Oh, sir, forgive me ! [Embraces him. 

Jer. Help ! murder ! 

Serv. What's the matter, sir ? 

Jer. Why, here, this d d Jew has brought an 

old harridan to strangle me. 

Isa. Lord, it is his own daughter, and he is so 
hard-hearted he wo'n't forgive her. 

Enter Antonio and Louisa ; they kneel. 

Jer. Zounds and fury ! what's here now ? who 
sent for you, sir, and who the devil are you.'' 

Ant. This lady's husband, sir. 

Isa. Ay, that he is, I'll be sworn, for I left them 
with the priest, and was to have given her away. 

Jer. You were ? 

Isa. Ay, that's my honest friend, Antonio ; and 
that's the little girl I told you I had hampered him 
with. 



102 SHERIDAIf. 

Jer. Why, you are either drunk or mad — this ig 
my daughter. 

Isa. No, no ; 'tis you are both drunk and mad, I 
think — here's your daughter. 

Jer. Hark ye, old iniquity, will you explain all 
this, or not .? 

Dtien. Come, then, Don Jerome, I will — though 
our habits might inform you all — look on your 
daughter, there, and on me. 
^sa. What's this I hear.? 

Duen. The truth is that in your passion this 
morning you made a small mistake ; for you turned 
your daughter out of doors, and locked up your 
humble servant. 

Isa. O lud ! O lud ! here's a pretty fellow, to 
turn his daughter out of doors, instead of an old 
Duenna. 

Jer. And, O lud ! O lud ! here's a pretty fellow, 
to marry an old Duenna instead of my daughter — 
but how came the rest about .? 

Duen. I have only to add, that I remained in your 
daughter's place, and had the good fortune to engage 
the aiTections of my sweet husband here. 

Isa. Her husband ! Why, you old v/itch, do you 
think I'll be your husband now .? this is a trick, a 
cheat, and you ought all to be ashamed of yourselves. 

Ant. Hark ye, Isaac, do you dare to complain of 
tricking ? — Don Jerome, I give you my word, this 
cunning Portuguese has brought all this upon him- 
self, by endeavouring to overreach you, by getting 
your daughter's fortune without making any settle- 
ment in return. 

Jer. Overreach me ! 



SHERIDAN. 



103 



Louisa. 'Tis so, indeed, sir, and we can prove it 
to you. 

Jcr. Why, gad take me, it must be so, or he could 
never have put up with such a face as Margaret's — 
so, little Solomon, I w^ish you joy of your wife, with 
all my soul. 

Louisa. Isaac, tricking is all fair in love — let you 
alone for the plot. 

Ant. A cunning dog, ar'n't you ? A sly little vil- 
lain, hey.'' 

Louisa. Roguish, perhaps ; but keen, devilish keen. 

Jer. Yes, yes ; his aunt always called him little 
Solomon. 

Isa. Why, the plagues of Egypt upon you all ! — 
but do you think I'll submit to such an imposition ? 

Ant. Isaac, one serious word — you'd better be 
content as you are; for, believe me, you will find, 
that in the opinion of the world there is not a fairer 
subject for contempt and ridicule than a knave be- 
come the dupe of his own art. 

Isa. I don't care — I'll not endure this. Don Je- 
rome, 'tis you have done this — you would be so 
cursed positive about the beauty of her you locked 
up, and all the time I told, you she was as old as my 
mother, and as ugly as the devil. 

Dueii. Why, you little insignificant reptile ! 

Jei-. That 's right — attack him, Margaret. 

Duen. Dare such a thing as you pretend to talk of 
beauty .'' — A walking rouleau ! — a body that seems 
to owe all its consequence to the dropsy ! — a pair of 
eyes like two dead beetles in a wad of brown dough ! 
— a beard like an artichoke, with dry shrivelled 
jaws, that would disgrace the mummy of a monkey ! 

Jer. Well done, Margaret ! 



104 SHERIDAN. 

Duen. But you shall know that I have a brother, 
who wears a sword — and if you don't do me jus- 
tice 

ha. Fire seize your brother, and you too ! I'll fly 
to Jerusalem to avoid you ! 

Ducn. Fly where you will, I 'II follow you. 

Jcr. Throw your snowy arms about him, Margaret. 
(Excunt Isaac and Duenna.) — But, Louisa, are you 
really married to this modest gentleman ? 

Louisa. Sir, in obedience to your commands, 1 
gave him my hand within this hour. 

Jcr. My commands 1 

Aiit. Yes sir, here is your consent, under your 
own hand. 

Jer. How ! would you rob me of my child by a 
trick, a false pretence ^ and do you think to get her 
fortune by the same means .'' Why, 'slife, you are 
as great a rogue as Isaac ! 

Ant. No, Don Jerome ; though I have profited by 
this paper, in gaining your daughter's hand, 1 scorn 
to obtain her fortune b}'- deceit. There, sir. (Gives 
a letter.) Now give her your blessing for a dower, 
and all the little I possess shall be settled on her 
in return. Had you wedded her to a prince, he 
could do no more. 

Jer. Why, gad take me, but you are a very extra- 
ordinary fellow ! But have you the impudence to 
suppose that no one can do a generous action but 
yourself. '^ Here, Louisa, tell this proud fool of yours, 
that he's the only man I know that would renounce 
your fortune ; and, by my soul, he's the only man in 
Spain that's worthy of it. There, bless you both ; 
I'm an obstinate old fellow when I'm in the wrong; 
but you shall now find me as steady in the right. 



SHERIDAN. 105 

Enter Ferdinand and Clara. 

Another wonder still ! why, sirrah ! Ferdinand, 
you have not stole a nun, have you ? 

Ferd. She is a nun in nothing but her habit, sir — 
look nearer, and you'll perceive 'tis Clara D'Alman- 
za, Don Guzman's daughter ; and with pardon for 
•stealing a wedding, she is also my wife. 

Jer. Gadsbud, and a great fortune — Ferdinand, 
you are a prudent young rogue, and I forgive you : 
and, ifecks, you are a pretty little damsel. Give 
your father-in-law a kiss, you smiling rogue. 

Clar. There, old gentleman ; and now mind you 
behave well to us. 

Jer. Ifecks, those lips ha'n't been chilied by kiss- 
ing beads — Egad, I believe I shall grow the best hu- 
moured fellow in Spain — Lewis ! Sancho ! Carlos ! 
d'ye hear ? are all my doors thrown open .'' Our 
children's weddings are the only holidays our age 
can boast; and then we drain, with pleasure, the 
little stock of spirits time has left us. (Music within.) 
But see, here come our friends and neighbours ! 

Enter Masqueraders. 

And, i'faith, we'll make a night on't, with wine, 
and dance, and catches — then old and young shall 
join us .'' 

FROM THE COMEDY OF "A TRIP TO SCARBO- 
ROUGH," ACT I. SCENE II. 

Enter Lord Foppingtori, in his J\^ight-goicn, and La 
Varolc. 

Lord F. Well, 'tis an unspeakable pleasure to be 
a man of quality — strike me dumb ! Even the boors 

F 2 



106 SHERIDAN. 

of this northern Spa have learned the respect due to 
a title (aside) — La Varole ! 

La Var. Mi lor 

Lord F. You ha'n't yet been at Muddymoat hall, 
to announce my arrival, have you ? 

La Var. Not yet, mi lor. 

Lord F. Then you need not go till Saturday ; 
{Exit La Varole) as I am in no particular haste to 
view my intended sposa — I shall sacrifice a day or 
two more to the pursuit of my friend Loveless's wife. 
Amanda is a charming creature, — strike me ugly I 
and if I have any discernment in the world, she 
thinks no less of my Lord Foppington. 

Re-enter La Varole. 

La Var. Mi lor, de shoemaker, de tailor, de ho- 
sier, de sempstress, de peru, be all ready, if your 
lordship please to dress. 

Lord F. 'Tis well ; admit them. 

La Var. Hey, messieurs, entrez. 

Enter Tailor, Shoemaker, S^c. 

Lord F. So, gentlemen , I hope you have all taken 
pains to show yourselves masters in your professions ? 

Tai. I think I may presume to say, sir 

La Var. Mi lor ! you clown you ! 

Tai. My lord — I ask your lordship's pardon, my 
lord. — I hope, my lord, your lordship will be pleased 
to own I have brought your lordship as accomplish- 
ed a suit of clothes as ever peer of England wore, my 
lord — will your lordship please to view 'em now .'' 

Lord F. Ay ; but let my people dispose the glas- 
ses so that I may see myself before and behind ; for 
I love to see myself all round. 



SHERIDAN. 107 

Whilst he puts on his clothes, enter Young Fashion 
and Lory. 



ig F. Hey day ! What the devil have we 
here ? — Sure, my gentleman's grown a favourite at ' 
court, he has got so many people at his levee ! 

[Apart. 

Lory. Sir, these people come in order to make 
him a favourite at court — they are to establish him 
with the ladies. [Apart. 

Young F. Good heavens ! to what an ebb of taste 
are women fallen, that it should be in the power of 
the laced coat to recommend a gallant to them ! 

[Apart. 

Lory. Sir, tailors and hair-dressers debauch all 
the women. [Apart. 

Young F. Thou say'st true. — But now for my re- 
ception. [Apart. 

Lord F. Death and eternal tortures ! Sir — I say 
the coat is too wide here by a foot. 

Tai. My lord, if it had been tighter, 'twould nei- 
ther have hooked nor buttoned. 

Lord F. Rat the hooks and buttons, sir ! Can any 
thing be worse than this .'' — As Gad shall jedge me, 
it hangs on my shoulders like a chairman's surtout. 

Tai. 'Tis not for me to dispute your lordship's 
fancy. 

Lory. There, sir, observe what respect does. 

[Apart. 

Yotmg F. Respect ! D — n him for a coxcomb — 
but let's accost him. [Apart.] Brother, I'm your 
humble servant. 

Lord F. O Lord, Tam, I did not expect you in 
England. — Brother, I'm glad to see you — but what 



108 SHERIDAN. 

has brouglit you to Scarborough, Tarn ? — Look you, 
sir, {to the Tailor,) I shall never be reconciled to this 
nauseous wrapping gown, therefore pray get me an- 
other suit with all possible expedition ; for this is 
my eternal aversion. [Exit Tailor.'] Well but, Tam, 
you don't tell me what has driven you to Scarbo- 
rough. — Mrs. Calico, are not you of my mind.? 

Semp. Directly, my lord. — I hope your lordship is 
pleased with your ruffles ? 

Lord F. In love with them, stap my vitals ! — 
Bring my bill ; you sliall be paid to-morroAV. 

Semp. I humbly thank your lordship. [Exit. 

Lord F. Hark thee, shoemaker, these shoes ar'n't 
ugly, but they don't fit me. 

Shoe. My lord, I think tliey fit you very well. 

Lord F. They hurt me bekiw the instep. 

Shoe. [Feels his foot.'} No, my lord, they don't 
hurt you there. 

Lord F. I tell thee they pinch me execrably. 

Shoe. Why then, my lord, if those shoes pinch 
you, I'll be d — n'd. 

Lord F. Why, wilt thou undertake to persuade 
me I cannot feel .'' 

Shoe. 'Your lordship may please to feel what you 
think fit, but that shoe does not hurt you, — I think 
I understand my trade. 
. Lord F. Now, by all that's good and powerful, 
thou art an incomprehensive coxcomb — but thou 
raakest good shoes, and so I'll bear with thee. 

Shoe. My lord, I have worked for half the people 
of quality in this town these twenty years, and 'tis 
^ very hard I shouldn't know when a shoe hurts, and 
when it don't. 

Lord F. Well, pr'ythee begone about thy business. 



SHERIDAN. 109 

[Exit Shoemaker.] Mr. Mendlegs, a word with 
you. — The calves of these stockings are thickened 
a httle too much 5 they make my legs look like a 
porter's. 

Mend. My lord, methinks they look mighty well. 

Lord F. Ay, but you are not so good a judge of 

those things as I am — I have studied them all my 

life — therefore pray let the next be the thickness of 

a crown-piece less. 

Mend. Indeed, my lord, they are the same kind I 
had the honour to furnish your lordship with in town. 
Lord F. Very possibly, Mr. Mendlegs ; but that 
was in the beginning of the winter, and you should 
always remember, Mr. Hosier, that if you make a 
nobleman's spring legs as robust as his autumnal 
calves, you commit a manstrous impropriety, and 
make no allowances for the fatigues of the winter. 

\_Exit Hosier. 
Jeioel. I hope, my lord, these buckles have had 
the unspeakable satisfaction of being honoured with 
your lordship's approbation .'' 

Lord F. Why, they are of a pretty fancy; but 
don't you think them rather of the smallest ? 

Jetoel. My lord, they could not well be larger, to 
keep on your lordship's shoe. 

Lord F. My good sir, you forget that these matters 
are not as they used to be : formerly, indeed, the 
buckle was a sort of machine, intended to keep on 
the shoe ; but the case is now quite reversed, and the 
shoe is of no earthly use, but to keep on the buckle. 
— Now give me my watches, and the business of 
the morning will be pretty well over. [Exit Jewel. 
Young F. Well, Lory, what dost think on't ? — a 



110 SHERIDAN. 

very friendly reception from a brother after three 
years' absence ! [Apart. 

Lory. Why, sir, 'tis your own fault — here you 
have stood ever since you came in, and have not 
commended any one thing that belongs to him. 

[Jpart. 

Young F. Nor ever shall, while they belong to a 
coxcomb. [Apart-I Now your people of business 
are gone, brother, I hope I may obtain a quarter of 
an hour's audience of you. 

Lord F. Faith, Tarn, I must beg you'll excuse me 
at this time, for I have an engagement which I would 
not break for the salvation of mankind. Hey ! — 
there ! — is my carriage at the door .'' — You'll excuse 
me, brother. [Going. 

Young F. Shall you be back to dinner .? 

Lord F. As Gad shall je'dge me, I can't tell ; for 
it is possible I may dine with some friends at Don- 
ner's. 

Young F. Shall I meet you there ? for I must 
needs talk with you. 

Lord F. That I'm afraid mayn't be quite so pra- 
per ; for those I commonly eat with are a people of 
nice conversation ; and you know, Tam, your educa- 
tion has been a little at large — but there are other 
ordinaries in town — very good beef ordinaries — I 
suppose, Tam, you can eat beef? — However, dear 
Tam, I'm glad to see thee in England, stap my vi- 
tals ! [Exit. 

FROM THE " SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL;" 
ACT I. SCENE I. 

Scene, Lady SncerwelVs House. Enter Maria. 
Lady S. Maria, my dear, how do you do ? — 
What's the matter ? 



SHERIDAN. Ill 

Maria. Oh ! there is that disagreeable lover of 
mine, Sir Benjamin Backbite, has just called at my 
guardian's, with his odious uncle, Crabtree ; so I 
slipt out, and ran hither to avoid them. 

J. Surf. If my brother Charles had been of the 
party, madam, perhaps you would not have been so 
much alarmed. 

Lady S. Nay, now you are severe; for I dare 
swear the truth of the matter is, Maria heard you 
were here. But, my dear, what has Sir Benjamin 
done that you would avoid him so .-' 

Maria. Oh, he has done nothing; but 'tis for 
what he has said— his conversation is a perpetual 
libel on all his acquaintance. 

J. Surf. Ay, and the worst of it is, there is no ad- 
vantage in not knowing him — for he'll abuse a 
stranger just as soon as his best friend, and his un- 
cle's as bad. 

Lady S. Nay, but we should make allowance — Sir 
Benjamin is a wit and a poet. 

Maria. For my part, I confess, madam, wit loses 
its respect with me, when I see it in company 
with malice. What do you think, Mr. Surface ? 

J. Sarf Certainly, madam ; to smile at the jest 
which plants a thorn in another's breast is to be- 
come a principal in the mischief. 

Lady S. Pshaw ! there's no possibility of being 
witty without a little ill-nature : the malice of a good 
thing is the barb that makes it stick. What's your 
opinion, Mr. Surface ? 

J. Surf To be sure, madam, that conversation, 
where the spirit of raillery is suppressed, will ever 
appear tedious and insipid. 



112 SHERIDAN. 

Maria. Well, I'll not debate how far scandal may- 
be allowable ; but in a man, I am sure, it is always 
contemptible. We have pride, envy, rivalship, and 
a thousand motives to depreciate each other ; but the 
male slanderer must have the cowardice of a wo- 
man before he can traduce one. 

Enter Servant. 

Serv. Madam, Mrs. Candour is below, and if your 
ladyship's at leisure, will leave her carriage. 

Ladij S. Beg her to walk in. [Exit Serv.] Now, 
Maria, here is a character to your taste ; for though 
Mrs. Candour is a little talkative, every body allows 
her to be the best natured and best sort of woman. 

Maria. Yes — with a very gross affectation of good- 
nature and benevolence, she does more mischief 
than the direct malice of old Crabtree. 

J. Surf. Ffaith, that's true, Lady Sneerwell : 
whenever I hear the current running against the 
characters of my friends, I never think them in such 
danger as when Candour undertakes their defence. 

Lady S. Hush ! here she is ! 

Eiiter Mrs. Candour. 

Mrs. C. My dear Lady Sneerwell, how have you 
been this century ? Mr. Surface what news do you 
hear ? — though indeed it is no matter, for I think one 
hears nothing else but scandal. 

J. Surf. Just so, indeed, ma'am. 

Mrs. C. Oh, Maria, child, — what is the whole af- 
fair off between you and Charles ? His extravagance, 
I presume — the town talks of nothing else. 

Maria. Indeed ! I am very sorry ma'am, the 
town is not better employed. 



SHERIDAN. 113 

Mrs. C. True, true, child ; but there's no stop- 
ping people's tongues. I own I was hurt to hear it, 
as I indeed was to learn, from the same quarter, 
that your guardian. Sir Peter, and Lady Teazle have 
not agreed lately so well as could be wished. 

Maria. 'Tis strangely impertinent for people to 
busy themselves so. 

Mrs. C. Very true, child ; but what's to be done ? 
People will talk — there's no preventing it. Why, 
it was but yesterday I was told that Miss Gadabout 
had eloped with Sir Filigree FHrt !— But, Lord ! 
there's no minding what one hears ; though to be 
sure, I had this from very good authority. 

Maria. Such reports are highly scandalous. 

Mrs. C. So they are, child — shameful, shameful ! 
But the world is so censorious, no character escapes. 
Lord, now, who would have suspected your friend 
Miss Prim of an indiscretion ? Yet such is the ill- 
nature of people, that they say her uncle stopped 
her last week, just as she was stepping into the 
York diligence with her dancing master. 

Maria. I'll answer for't there are no grounds for 
that report. 

Mrs. C. Oh, no foundation in the world, I dare 
swear ; no more, probably, than for the story circu- 
lated last month of Mrs. Festino's affair with Colo- 
nel Cassino ; though, to be sure, that matter was 
never rightly cleared up. 

J. Surf. The licence of invention some peo- 
ple take is monstrous indeed. 

Maria. 'Tis so ; but, in my opinion, those who 
report such things are equally culpable. 

Mrs. C. To be sure they are ; tale-bearers are as 
bad as the tale-makers; — 'tis an old observation, and 



114 SHERIDAN. 

a very true one : but what's to be done, as I said 
before ? — how will you prevent people from talking ? 
To-day, Mrs. Clackitt assured me, Mr. and Mrs. 
Honeymoon were at last become mere man and 
wife, like the rest of their acquaintance. She likewise 
hinted that a certain widow in the next street had 
got rid of her dropsy, and recovered her shape in a 
most surprising manner. And at the same time. 
Miss Tattle, who was by, affirmed, that Lord 
Buffiilo had discovered his lady at a house of no 
extraordinary fame ; and that Sir H. Bouquet and 
Tom Saunter were to measure swords on a similar 
provocation — But, Lord, do you think I w:ould re- 
peat these things ? No, no ! tale-bearers, as I said 
before, are just as bad as the tale-makers. 

J. Surf. Ah ! Mrs. Candour, if every body had 
your forbearance and good-nature ! 

jyhs. C. I confess, Mr. Surface, I cannot bear to 
hear people attacked behind their backs; and when 
ugly circumstances come out against our acquaint- 
ance, I own I always love to think the best. — By 
the by, I hope 'tis not true that your brother is ab- 
solutely ruined ? 

J. Surf. I am afraid his circumstances are very 
bad indeed, ma'am. 

Mrs. C. Oh ! I heard so ; but you must tell him 
to keep up his spirits ; ever}'^ body almost is in the 
same way — Lord Spindle, Sir Thomas Splint, Cap- 
tain Quinze, and Mr. Nickit — all up, I hear, within 
this week; so if Charles is undone, he'll find half 
his acquaintance ruined too, and that, you knov/, is 
a consolation. 

J, Surf. Doubtless, ma'am, a very great one. 



SHERIDAN. 115 

Enter Servant. 
Ser. Mr. Crabtree and Sir Benjamin Backbite. 

[Exit Serv. 
Lady S. So, Maria, you see your lover pursues 
you ; positively you shan't escape. 

Enter Crahtrec and Sir Benjamin Backbite. 

Crab. Lady Sneerwell, I kiss your hand — Mrs. 
Candour, I don't believe you are acquainted with 
my nephew^, Sir Benjamin Backbite ? Egad ! ma'am 
he has a pretty wit, and is a pretty poet, too ; isn't 
he, Lady Sneerwell ? 

Sir Benjamin. O fie, uncle ! 

Crab. Nay, egad it's true ; I back him at a rebus 
or a charade against the best rhymer in the king- 
dom. Has your ladyship heard the epigram he 
wrote last week on Lady Frizzle's feather catching 
fire ? Do, Benjamin, repeat it, or the charade you 
made last night extempore at Mrs. Drowzie's con- 
versazione. Come, now ; — your first is the name of 
a fish, your second a great naval commander, and — 

Sir Benj. Uncle, now, pr'ythee ! 

Crab. I'faith, ma'am, 'twould surprise you to 
hear how read^ he is at all these fine sort of things. 

Lady S. t wonder. Sir Benjamin you never pub- 
lish any thing. 

Sir Benj. To say truth, ma'am, 'tis very vulgar to 
print ; and as my little productions are mostly sa- 
tires and lampoons on particular people, I find they 
circulate more by giving copies in confidence to 
the friends of the parties. However, I have some 
love elegies, which, when I am favoured with this 
lady's smiles, T mean to give to the public. 

Crab. 'Fore heaven, ma'am, they'll immortalize 



116 SHERIDAN. 

you ! you'll be handed down to posterity, like Pe- 
trarch's Laura, or Waller's Sacharissa. 

Sir Benj. Yes, madam, I think you will like them 
when you shall see them on a beautiful quarto page, 
where a neat rivulet of text shall meander through 
a valley of margin. 'Fore gad, they will be the 
most elegant things of their kind ! 

Ci-ab. But, ladies, that's true — have you heard the 
news ? 

Mrs. C. What, sir, do you mean the report of — 

Crab. No, ma'am, that's not it — Miss Nicely is 
going to be married to her own footman. 

Mrs. C. Impossible ! 

Crab. Ask Sir Benjamin. 

Sir Benj. 'Tis very true, ma'am ; every thing is 
fixed, and the wedding liveries bespoke. 

Crab. Yes — and they do say there were pressing 
reasons for it. 

Lady S. Why, I have heard something of this 
before. 

Mrs. C. It can't be ; and I wonder any one should 
believe such a story of so prudent a lady as Miss 
Nicely. 

Sir Benj. O Lud ! ma'am, that's the very reason 
'twas believed at once. She has always been so 
cautious and so reserved, that every body was sure 
there was some reason for it at bottom. 

Mrs. C. Why, to be sure, a tale of scandal is as 
fatal to the credit of a prudent lady of her stamp as 
a fever is generally to those of the strongest constitu- 
tions. But there is a sort of puny, sickly reputa- 
tion, that is always ailing, yet will outlive the robust 
characters of a hundred prudes. 

Sir Benj. True, madam ; there are valetudinarians 



SHERIDAN. 117 

in reputation as well as in constitution ; who, being 
conscious of their weak part, avoid the least breath 
of air, and supply their want of stamina by care and 
circumspection. 

Mrs. Can. Well, but this may be all a mistake — 
You know. Sir Benjamin, very trifling circumstan- 
ces often give rise to the most injurious tales. 

Crab. That they do, I'll be sworn, ma'am — did 
you ever hear how Miss Piper came to lose her lover 
and her character, last summer, atTunbridge ? — Sir 
Benjamin, 3'ou remember it ! 

Sir Benj. Oh, to be sure ! — the most whimsical 
circumstance. 

Lady Sneer. How was it, pray .? 

Crab. Why, one evening, at Mrs. Ponto's assem- 
bly, the conversation happened to turn upon the 
breeding of Nova Scotia sheep in this country. 
Says a young lady in company, I have known in- 
stances of it — for Miss Letitia Piper, a first cousin 
of mine, had a Nova Scotia sheep that pi'oduced her 
twins. — What ! cries the Lady Dowager Dundizzy 
fwho is as deaf as a post.) has Miss Piper had twins .'' 
— This mistake, as you may imagine, threw the 
whole company into a fit of laughter. However, 
'twas tiie next morning every where reported, and in 
a few days believed by the whole town, that Miss 
Letitia Piper had actually been brought to bed of a 
fine boy and girl ;. and in less than a week there 
were some people who could name the father, and 
the farm-house where the babies were put to nurse. 

Lady Sneer. Strange indeed ! 

Crab. Matter of fact, I assure you.- — O Lud ! Mr. 
Surface, pray is it true that your uncle, Sir Oliver, 
is coming home .'' 



118 SHERIDAN. 

J. Surf. Not that T know of, indeed, sir. 

Ci-ab. He has been in the East Indies a long time. 
You can scarcely remember him, I believe ? — Sad 
comfort whenever he returns, to hear how your 
brother has gone on ! 

J. Surf. Charles has been imprudent, sir, to be 
sure ; but I hope no busy people have already pre- 
judiced Sir Oliver against him. He may reform. 

Sir Benj. To be sure he may ; for my part, I never 
believed him to be so utterly void of principle as peo- 
ple say ; and though he has lost all his friends, I am 
told nobody is better spoken of by the Jews. 

Crab. ^That's true, egad, nephew. If the Old 
Jewry was a ward, I believe Charles would be an 
alderman : — no man more popular there, 'fore Gad ! 
1 hear he pays as many annuities as the Irish tontine ; 
and that whenever he is sick, they have prayers for 
the recovery of his health in all the synagogues. 

Sir Bevj. Yet no man lives in greater splendour. 
They tell me when he entertains his friends, he will 
sit down to dinner with a dozen of his own securities ; 
have a score of tradesmen waiting in the ante-cham- 
ber, and an officer behind every guest's chair. 

J. Surf. This may be entertainment to you, gen- 
tlemen, but you pay very little regard to the feelings 
of a brother. 

Maria. Their malice is intolerable. — Lad}^ Sneer- 
well, I must wish you a good morning : I'm not 
very well. [Exit Maria. 

Mrs. Can. O dear! she changes colour very much. 

Lady Sneer. Do, Mrs. Candour, follow her : she 
may want assistance. 

Mrs. Can. That I will with all my soul, ma'am. — 

Poor dear girl, who knows what her situation maybe ! 

[Exit Mrs. Candour. 



SHERIDAN. 119 

Lady Sneer. 'Twas nothing but that she could not 
bear to liear Charles reflected on, notwithstanding 
their difference. 

Sir Bcnj. The young lady's -penchant is obvious. 

Crab. But, Benjamin, you must not give up the 
pursuit for that : follow her, and put her into good 
humour. Repeat her some of your own verses. 
Come, I'll assist you. 

Sir Bcnj. Mrs. Surface, I did not mean to hurt 
you ; but depend on't your brother is utterly undone. 

Crab. O Lud, lay,! undone as ever man was — 
Ca.n't raise a guinea ! 

Sir Bcnj. And every thing sold, I'm told, that 
was movable. 

Crah. 1 have seen one that was at his house. — 
Not a tiling left but some empty bottles that were 
overlooked, and the family pictures, which 1 believe 
are framed in the wainscots. 

Sir Bersj. And I'm very sorry, also, to hear some 
bad stories against him. [Going. 

Gi-.'h. Oh ! he has done many mean things, that's 
certain. 

Sir Betij. But. however, as he's your brother 

[ Going. 

Crah. We'll tell you all another opportunity. 

[Exeunt Crahtree and Sir Benjamin. 

Lady Sneer. Ha ! ha ! 'tis very hard for them to 
leave a subject they have not quite run down. 

J. Surf. And I believe the abuse was no more ac- 
ceptable to your ladyship than Maria. 

Lady Sneer. 1 doubt her affections are farther en- 
gaged than we imagine. But the family are to be 
here this evening, so you may as well dine where you 
are, and we shall have an opportunity of observing 



120 SHERIDAN. 

farther ; in the meantime, I'll go and plot mischief, 
and you shall study sentiment. [Exeunt. 

FROM ACT II. SCENE II. 

Jit Lady Sncericell's. 

Enter Lady Sneerwell, Mrs. Candour, Crahtree, Sir 
Benjamin Backbite, and Joseph Surface. 

Lady Sneer. Nay, positively we will hear it. 
J. Surf. Yes, yes, the epigram by all means. 
Sir Benj. O plague on't uncle ! 'tis mere non- 



Crah. No, no, 'fore Gad, very clever for an extem- 
pore ! 

Sir Benj. But ladies, you should be acquainted 
with the circumstance. You must know, that one day 
last week, as Lady Betty Curricle was taking the 
dvist in Hyde Park, in a sort of duodecimo pheeton, 
she desired me to write some verses on her ponies : 
upon which I took out my pocket-book, and in one 
moment produced the following : — 

Sure never were seen two such beautiful ponies : 
Other horses are clowns, but these macaronies : 
To give them this title I'm sure can't be wrong, 
Their legs are so slim, and their tails are so long. 
Crab. There, ladies, done in the smack of a whip, 
and on horseback too. 

J. Surf. A very Phoebus, mounted — indeed. Sir 
Benjamin. 

Sir Benj. O dear, sir ! trifles — trifles. 

Enter Lady Teazle and Maria. 

Mrs. Can. I must have a copy. 
Lady Sneer. Lady Teazle, I hope we shall see Sir 
Peter. 



SHERIDAN. 121 

Lady T. I believe he'll wait on your ladyship pre- 
sently. 

Lady Sneer. Maria, my love, you look grave. — 
Come, you shall sit down to piquet with Mr. Surface. 

Maria. I take very little pleasure in cards — how- 
ever, I'll do as you please. 

Lady T. I am surprised Mr. Surface should sit 
down with her : I thought he would have embraced 
this opportunity of speaking to me, before Sir Peter 
came. [^side. 

Mrs. Can. Now, I'll die, but you are so scanda- 
lous, I'll forswear your society. 

Lady T. What's the matter, Mrs. Candour.^ 

Mrs. Can. They'll not allow our friend Miss Ver- 
million to be handsome. 

Lady Sneer. O surely she is a pretty woman. 

Crab. I am very glad you think so, ma'am. 

Mrs. Can. She has a charming fresh colour. 

Lady T. Yes, when it is fresh put on. 

Mrs. Can. O fie ! I'll swear her colour is natural: 
I have seen it come and go. 

Lady T. I dare swear you have, ma'am ; it goes 
off at night, and comes again in the morning. 

Sir Benj. True, ma'am, it only comes and goes, 
but, what's more — egad, her maid can fetch and 
carry it ! 

Mrs. Can. Ha ! ha ! ha ! how I hate to hear you 
talk so ! But surely, now, her sister is, or was, very 
handsome. 

Crah. Who .? Mrs. Evergreen .? O Lord ! she's 
six-and-fifty if she's an hour ! 

Mrs. Can. Now, positively you wrong her ; fifty- 
two or fifty-three is the utmost — and I don't think 
she looks more. 



122 SHERIDAN. 

Sir Benj. Ah! there's no judging by her looks, 
unless one could see her face. 

Ladij Sneer. Well, well, if Mrs. Evergreen does 
take some pains to repair the ravages of time, you 
must allow she effects it with great ingenuity : and 
surely that's better than the careless manner in 
which the widow Ochre chalks her wrinkles. 

Sir Benj. Nay now, Lady Sneerwell, you are se- 
vere upon the widow. Come, come, 'tis not that 
she paints so ill — but when she has finished her 
face, she joins it so badly to her neck, that she looks 
like a mended statue, in which the connoisseur sees 
at once that the head's modern, though the trunk's 
antique. 

Crab. Ha ! ha ! ha ! well said, nephew ! 

Mrs. Can. Ha ! ha ! ha ! well, you make me 
laugh : but I vow I hate you for it. — What do you 
think of Miss Simper.' 

Sir Benj. Why, she has very pretty teeth. 

Lady T. Yes, and on that account, when she is 
neither speaking nor laughing, (which very seldom 
happens) she never absolutely shuts her mouth, but 
leaves it always on ajar, as it were thus — 

[Shows her teeth. 

Mrs. Can. How can you be so ill-natured ? 

Lady T. Nay, I allow even that's better than 
the pains Mrs. Prim takes to conceal her losses in 
front. She draws her mouth till it positively resem- 
bles the aperture of a poor's box, and all her words 
appear to slide out edgewise, as it were, thus — Hoio 
do you do, madam ? Yes, madam. 

Lady Sneer. Very well. Lady Teazle ; I see you 
can be a httle severe. 

Lady T. In defence of a friend it is but justice. 
But here comes Sir Peter to spoil our pleasantry. 



SHERIDAN. 123 

Enter Sir Peter Teazle. 

Sir Peter. Ladies, your most obedient. — Mercy on 
me ! here is the whole set ! a character dead at eve- 
ry word, I suppose. [Aside. 

Mrs. Can. I am rejoiced you are come, Sir Peter. 
They have been so censorious — and Lady Teazle as 
bad as any one. 

Sir Peter. It must be very distressing to you, Mrs. 
Candour, I dare swear. 

Mrs. Can. O they will allow good qualities to no 
body; not even good nature to our friend Mrs. Pursy. 

LmiIij T. What, the fat dowager who was at Mrs. 
Quadrille's last night .? 

Mrs. Can. Nay, her bulk is her misfortune ; and 
when she takes such pains to get rid of it, you 
ought not to reflect on her. 

Lady Sneer. That's very true, indeed. 

Lady T. Yes, I know she almost livg s on acids 
and small whey ; laces herself by pulleys ; and often 
in the hottest noon in summer, you may see her on 
a little squat pony, Avith her hair plaited up behind 
like a drummer's, and puffing round the Ring on a 
full trot. 

Mrs. Can, I thank you, Lady Teazle, for defend- 
ing her. 

Sir Peter. Yes, a good defence, truly ! 

Mrs. Can. Truly, Lady Teazle is as censorious as 
Miss Sallow. 

Crab. Yes, and she is a curious being to pretend 
to be censorious — an awkward gawky, without any 
one good point under heaven. 

Mrs. Can. Positively you shall not be so very 
severe. Miss Sallow is a near relation of mine by 



124 SHERIDAN. 

marriage, and as for her person, great allowance is 
to be made; for, let me tell you, a woman labours 
under many disadvantages who tries to pass for a 
girl at six-and-thirty. 

Lady Sneer. Though, surely, she is handsome still 
— and for the weakness in her eyes, considering 
how nmch she reads by candle light, it is not to be 
wondered at. 

Mrs. Can. True, and then as to her manner; 
upon my word I think it is particularly graceful, 
considering she never had the least education : for 
you knov/ her mother was a Welsh milliner, and 
her father a sugar baker at Bristol. 

Sir Benj. Ah ! you are both of you too good-na- 
tured ! 

Sir Peter. Yes, damned good-natured ! This their 
own relation ! mercy on me ! \_Aside. 

Mrs. Can. For my own part, I cannot bear to 
hear a frien-d ill-spokon of. 

Sir Peter. No, to be sure ! 

Sir Benj. Oh ! you are of a moral turn. Mra. 
Candour and I can sit for an hour and hear Lady 
Stucco talk sentiment. 

Ladij T. Nay, I vow Lady Stucco is very well 
with the dessert after dinner ; for she's just like the 
French fruit one cracks for mottos — made up of 
paint and proverb.^ 

Mrs. Can. Well, I never will join in ridiculing a 
friend ; and sol constantly tell my cousin Ogle, and 
you all know what pretensions she has to be critical 
on beauty. 

Crab. O to be sure ! she has herself the oddest 
countenance that ever was seen ; 'tis a collection of 
features from all the different countries of the globe. 



SHERIDi^N. 



125 



Sir Benj. So she has, indeed— an Irish front 

Crab. Caledonian locks 

Sir Benj. Dutch nose 

Crab. Austrian lips. 

Sir Benj. Complexion of a Spaniard. 

Crab: And teeth a la Chinois 

Sir Benj. In short, her face resembles a table dlidte 
at Spa — where no two guests are of a nation 

Crab. Or a congress at the close of a general war 
— wherein all the members, even to her eyes, appear 
to have a different interest, and her nose and chin 
are the only parties likely to join issue. 

Mrs. Can. Ha! ha! ha! 

Sir Peter. jVIercy on my life ! — a person they dine 
with twice a week. [Aside. 

Lady Sneer. Go, go; you are a couple of provok- 
ing toads. 

Mrs. Can. Nay, but I vow you shall not carry the 
laugh off so — for, give me leave to say, that Mrs. 
Ogle 

5Vy P. Madam, madam, I beg your pardon — 
there's no stopping these good gentlemen's tongues — 
But when I tell you Mrs. Candour, that the lady 
they are abusing is a particular friend of mine, I 
hope you'll not take her part. 

LadijS. Ha! ha! ha! Well said, Sir Peter! 
but you are a cruel creature, — too phlegmatic your- 
self for a jest, and too peevish to allow wit in others. 

Sif P. Ah ! madam, true wit is more nearly 
allied to good nature than your ladyship is aware of 

Lady T. True, Sir Peter; I believe they are so 
near akin that they can never be united. 

Sir B. Or rather, madam, suppose them to be 
man and wife, because one seldom sees them together. 



126 SHERIDAN. 

Lady T. But Sir Peter is such an enemy to 
scandal, I believe he would have it put down by 
Parliament. 

Sir P. 'Fore heaven, madam, if they were to con- 
sider the sporting with reputation of as much im- 
portance as poaching on manors, and pass an act for 
the preservation of fame, I believe there are many 
would thank them for the bill. 

Lady S. O lud ! Sir Peter; would you deprive us 
of our privileges ? 

Sir P. Ay, madam ; and then no person should 
be permitted to kill characters and run down repu- 
tation, but qualified old maids and disappointed 
widows. 

Lady S. Go, you monster ! 

Mrs. C. But, surely, you would not be quite so 
severe on those who only report what they hear.'' 

Sir P. Yes, madam, I would have law merchant 
for them too ; and in all cases of slander currency, 
whenever the drawer of the lie was not to be found, 
the injured parties should have a right to come on 
any of the indorsers. 

Crah. Well, for my part, I believe there never 
was a scandalous tale without some foundation. 

Sir P. O, nine out often of the malicious invert- 
tions are founded on some ridiculous misrepresenta- 
tion ! 

Lady S. Come, ladies, shall we sit down to cards 
in the next room ? 

Enter a Servant, who tvhispers Sir Peter. 

Sir P. I'll be with them directly — I'll get away 
unperceived. [Jipart. 

Lady S. Sir Peter, you are not going to leave us .' 

Sir P. Your ladyship must excuse me; I'm 



SHERIDAN. 127 

called away by particular business. But I leave my 
character behind me. [Exit Sir Peter. 

Sir B. Well— certainly, Lady Teazle, that lord of 
yours is a strange being- : T could tell you some sto- 
ries of him would make you laugh heartily if he 
were not your husband. 

Lady T. 0,pray don't mind that ; — come, do let's 
hear them. 

[Joins the rest of the company going into the next 
room. 

FROai ACT IV. SCENE I. 

Scene. Picture-room at Charles's. 

Enter Charles Surface, Sir Oliver Surface (disguised 
as Mr. Premium, a money lender,) Moses, and 
Careless. 

Charles S. Walk in gentlemen, pray walk in : — 
here they are, the family of the Surfaces, up to the 
Conquest. 

Sir O. And, in my opinion, a goodly collection. 

Charles S. Ay, ay, these are done in the true spirit 
of portrait painting ; — no volunteer grace and expres- 
sion. Not like the works of your modern Raphaels, 
who give you the strongest resemblance, yet contrive 
to make your portrait independent of you, so that 
you may sink the original, and not hurt the picture — 
No, no : the merit of these is the inveterate likeness 
— all stiff and awkward as the originals, and like 
nothing in human nature besides. 

Sir 0. Oh ! we shall never see such figures of 
men again. 

Charles S. I hope not. — Well, you see, master 
Premium, what a domestic character I am ; here I 



128 SHERIDAN. 

sit of an evening surrounded by my family. But, 
come, get to your pulpit, Mr. Auctioneer ; here's an 
old gouty chair of my father' s will answer the purpose- 
Car. Ay, ay, this will do. — But, Charles, I hav'n't 
a hammer ; and what's an auctioneer without his 
hammer ? 

Charles S. Egad, that's true ; — what parchment 
have we here ? — O, our genealogy in full. Here, 
Careless, — you shall have no common bit of ma- 
hogany, here's the family tree for you, you rogue, — 
this shall be your hammer, and now you may knock 
down my ancestors with their own pedigree. 

Sir 0. Wliat an unnatural rogue! — an ex post 
facto parricide ! [Aside. 

Car. Yes, yes, here's a bit of your generation in- 
deed ; — faith, Charles, this is the most convenient 
thing 3'Ou could have found for the business, for 'twill 
serve not only as a hammer, but a catalogue into the 
bargain — Come, begin — A-going, a-going, a-going ! 

Charles S. Bravo, Careless ! — Well, here's my 
great uncle, Sir Richard Raveline,a marvellous good 
general in his day, I assure you. He served in all 
the Duke of Marlborough's wars, and got that cut 
over his eye at the battle of Malplaquet. What say 
you, Mr. Premium ? — look at him — there's a hero, 
not cut out of his feathers, as your modern dipt 
captains are, but enveloped in wig and regimentals, 
as a general should be. — What do you bid ? 

Mos. ]Mr. Premium would have ijoti speak. 

Charles S. Why, then, he shall have him for ten 
pounds, and I'm sure that's not dear for a staff-officer. 

Sir 0. Heaven deliver me ! his famous uncle 
Richard for ten pounds ! (aside.) Well, sir, I take 
him at that. 



SHERIDAN. 129 

Charles S. Careless, knocJk down my ifticle Rich- 
ard. — Here, now, is a maiden sister of his, my great 
aunt Deborah, done by Kneller, thought to be in his 
best manner, and a very formidable likeness — There 
she is, you see, a shepherdess feeding her flock. 
You shall have her for five pounds ten — the sheep 
are worth the money. 

Sir 0. Ah ! poor Deborah ! a woman who set 
such a value on herself (aside.) Five pounds ten — 
she's mine. 

Charles S. Knock down my aunt Deborah ! — 
Here, now, are two that were a sort of cousins of 
theirs. You see, Moses, these pictures were done 
some time ago, when beaux wore wigs, and the ladies 
their own hair. 

Sir 0. Yes, truly, head-dresses appear to have 
been a little lower in those days. 

Charles S. Well, take that couple for the same. 

Mos. 'Tis a good bargain. 

Charles S. Careless 1 This,'now, is a grandfather 
of my mother's, a learned judge, well known on the 
western circuit. — What do you rate him at Moses ? 

Mos. Four guineas. 

Charles S. Four guineas ! — God's life, you don't 
bid me the price of his wig. — Mr Premium, you 
have more respect for the wool-sack ; do let us 
knock his lordship down at fifteen. 

Sir 0. By all means. 

Car. Gone ! 

Charles S. And there are two brothers of his, 
William and Walter Blunt, Esqrs., both members of 
Parliament, and noted speakers, and what's very 
extraordinary, 1 believe this is the first time they 
were ever bought or sold, 

g3 



130 SHERIDAN. 

Sir 0. That is very extraordinary, indeed ! I'll 
take them at your own price, for the honour of Par- 
liament. 

Care. Well said, little Premium ! — I'll knock 
them down at forty. 

C. Surf. Here's a jolly fellow — I don't know 
what relation, but he was mayor of Manchester : 
take him at eight pounds. 

Sir 0. No, No ; six will do for the mayor. 

C. Swf. Come, make it guineas, and I'll throw 
you the two aldermen there into the bargain. 

Sir 0. They're mine. 

C. Surf. Careless, knock down the mayor and 
aldermen. — But plague on't, we shall be all day re- 
tailing in this manner; do let us deal wholesale: 
what say you, little Premium.'' Give \is three hun- 
dred pounds for the rest of the family in the lump. 

Cure. Ay, ay, that will be the best way. 

Sir 0. Well, well, any thing to accommodate 
you; — they are mine. But there is one portrait 
which you have always passed over. 

Care. What that ill-looking little fellow over the 
settee .'' 

Sir O. Ay yes, sir, I mean that ; though I don't 
think him so ill-looking a little fellov/, by any 
means. 

C. Surf What, that.?— Oh! that's my uncle Ol- 
iver ; 'twas done before he went to India. 

Care. Your uncle Oliver ! Gad, then you'll ne- 
ver be friends, Charles. That, now, to me, is as 
stern a looking rogue as ever I saw ; an unforgiv- 
ing^ eye, and a damned disinheriting countenance I 
— an inveterate knave, depend on't. Don't you 
think so. little Premium .'' 



SHERIDAN. 131 

Sir 0. Upon my soul, sir, I do not; I think it is 
as honest a looking face as any in the room, dead or 
alive ; — but I suppose uncle Oliver goes with the 
rest of the lumber ? 

C. Surf. No, hang it ; I'll not part with poor 
Noll. The old fellow has been very good to me, and, 
egad, I'll keep his picture while I've a room to put 
it in. 

Sir 0. The rogue's my nephew after all ! [Aside.'] 
— But, sir, I have somehow taken a fancy for that 
picture. 

C. Surf. I am sorry for't, for you certainl}^ will 
not have it. Oons, haven't you got enough of them.'' 

Sir 0. I forgive him every thing ! [Aside.'] But, 
sir, when 1 take a whim in my head I don't value 
money. I 11 give you as much for that as for all the 
rest. 

C. Surf. Don't tease me, master broker ; I tell 
you I'll not part with it, and there's an end of it. 

Sir 0. How like his father the dog is ! [Aside.} — 
Well, Well, I have done. — I did not perceive it be- 
fore, but I think I never saw such a striking resem- 
blance. [Aside.] Here is a draft for your sum. 

C. Surf. Why, 'tis for eight hundred pounds^ 

Sir 0. You will not let Sir Oliver go ? 

C. Surf Zounds ! no! I tell you once more. 

Sir O. Then never mind the difference, we'll ba- 
lance that another time — but give me your hand on 
the bargain ; you are an honest fellow, Charles — I 
beg pardon sir, for being so free. — Come, Moses. 

C. Surf. Egad, this is a whimsical old fellow ! — 
But hark'ee. Premium, you'll prepare lodgings for 
these gentlemen. 

Sir 0. Yes, yes, I'll send for them in a day or 
two. 



132 SHERIDAN. 

C. Surf. But, hold ; do now send a genteel con- 
veyance for them, for, I assure you, they were most 
of them used to ride in their own carriages. 

Sir 0. I will, I will— for all but Oliver. 

C. Surf. Ay, all but the little nabob. 

Sir O. You're fixed on that .^ 

C. Surf. Peremptorily. 

Sir O. A dear extravagant rogue ! [Aside.] — Good 
day ! — Come, Moses. — Let me hear now who calls 
him profligate ! 

[Ezeu7it Sir Oliver, Surface and Moses. 

ACT IV. SCENE III. 

Scene, a Library. Joseph Surface and a Servant. 

J. Surface. No letter from Lady Teazle ? 

Serv. No, sir. 

J. Surf. I am surprised she has not sent, if she 
is prevented from coming. Sir Peter certainly does 
not suspect me. Yet, I wish I may not lose the 
heiress, through the scrape 1 have drawn myself in- 
to with the wife ; however, Charles's imprujdence 
and bad character are great points in my favour. 

[Knocking heard loithout. 

Serv. Sir, I believe that must be Lady Teazle. 

J. Surf. Hold ! — See whether it is or not before 
you go to the door : I have a particular message for 
you, if it should be my brother. 

Serv. 'Tis her ladyship, sir ; she always leaves 
her chair at the milliner's in the next street. 

J. Surf. Stay, stay ; draw that screeir before the 
window — that will do ; — my opposite neighbour is a 
maiden lady of so anxious a temper. [Servant draws 
the screen and exit.] I have a difficult hand to play 



SHERIDAN, 133 

in this affair. Lady Teazle has lately suspected my 
views on Maria ; but she must by no means be 
let into that secret, — at least, till I have her more in 
my power. 

Enter Lady Teazle. 

Lady T. What, sentiment in soliloquy now .'' Have 
you been very impatient ? — O lud ! don't pretend 
to look grave. — I vow I couldn't come before. 

J. Surf. O, madam, punctuality is a species of 
constancy, a very unfashionable quality in a lady. 

Lady T. Upon my word you ought to pity me. — 
Do you know Sir Peter is grown so ill-natured to 
me of late, and so jealous of Charles too — that's the 
best of the story, isn't it ? 

J. Surf. I am glad my scandalous friends keep 
that up. [Aside. 

Lady T. I am sure I wish he would let Maria 
marry him, and then perhaps he would be convinced; 
don't you, Mr. Surface ? 

J. Surf. Indeed I do not. [jiside.] Oh, certainly 
1 do ! for then my dear Lady Teazle would also be 
convinced how wrong her suspicions were of my 
having any design on the silly girl. 

Lady T. Well, well, I'm inclined to believe you. 
But isn't it provoking to have the most ill-natured 
things said of one ? And there's my friend Lady 
Sneerwell has circulated I don't know how many 
scandalous tales of me, and all without any founda- 
tion too — that's what vexes me. 

.J. Surf. Ay, madam, to be sure, that's the provok- 
ing circumstance — without foundation ; yes, yes, 
there's the mortification, indeed; for when a scan- 
dalous story is believed against one, there certainly is 



134 SHERIDAN. 

no comfort like the consciousness of having de- 
served it. 

Lady T. No, to be sure, then I'd forgive their 
malice ; but to attack me, who am really so innocent, 
and who never say an ill-natured thing of any body — 
that is, of an}"^ friend ; and then Sir Peter too, to have 
him so peevish, and so suspicious, when I know the 
integrity of my own heart, — indeed 'tis monstrous ! 

J. Surf. But, my dear Lady Teazle, 'tis your own 
fault if you suffer it. When a husband entertains a 
groundless suspicion of his wife, and withdraws his 
confidence from her, the original compact is broken, 
and she owes it to the honour of her sex to outwit him. 

Lady T. Indeed ! — so that if he suspects me with- 
out cause, it follows, that the best way of curing his 
jealousy is to give him reason for't. 

J. Surf. Undoubtedly — for your husband- should 
never be deceived in you, — and in that case itbecomes 
you to be frail in compliment to his discernment. 

Ludy T. To be sure, what you say is very rea- 
sonable, and when the consciousness of my inno- 
cence 

J. Surf. Ah ! my dear madam, there is the great 
mistake : 'tis this very conscious innocence that is of 
the greatest prejudice to you. What is it makes you 
negligent of forms, and careless of the world's opinion •'' 
why, the consciousness of your own innocence. What 
makes you thoughtless in your conduct, and apt to 
run into a thousand little imprudences .? why, the 
consciousness of your own innocence. What makes 
you impatient of Sir Peter's temper, and outrageous 
at his suspicions.' why, the consciousness of your 
irniocence. 

Lady T. 'Tis very true ! 

J. Surf. Now, my dear Lady Teazle, if you would 



SHERIDAN. 135 

but once make a trifling faux pas, you can't con- 
ceive how cautious you would grow, and how ready 
to humour and agree with your husband. 

Lady T. Do you think so ^ 

J. Surf. Oh ! I am sure on't ; and then you would 
find all scandal would cease at once, for, in short your 
character at present is like a person in a plethora, 
absolutely dying from too much health. 

Lady T. So, so ; then I perceive your prescription 
is, that I must sin in my own defence, and part w^ith 
my virtue to secure my reputation .' 

Joseph S. Exactly so, upon my credit, ma'am. 

Lady T. Well, certainly this is the oddest doctrine, 
and the newest receipt for avoiding calumny. 

Joseph S. An infallible one, believe me. Prudence, 
like experience, must be paid for. 

Lady T. Why if my understanding v^rere once 
convinced 

Joseph S. O, certainly, madam, your understand- 
ing should be convinced. — Yes — yes — heaven forbid 
I should persuade you to do any thing you thought 
wrong. No, no, I have too much honour to desire 
it. 

Lady T. Don't you think we may as well leave 
lionour out of the question ? 

Joseph S. Ah ! the ill effects of your country edu- 
cation, I see, still remain with you. 

Lady T. I doubt they do indeed ; and I will fairly 
own to you, that if I could be persuaded to do wrong, 
it would be by Sir Peter's ill usage sooner than your 
honourable logic, after all. 

Joseph S. Then, by this hand, which he is un- 
wortliy of [ Taking her hand. 



136 SHERIDAN. 

Enter Servant. 

'Sdeath, you blockhead — what do you want ? 

ScTV. I beg your pardon, sir, bu-t I thought you 
would not choose Sir Peter to come up without an- 
nouncing him. 

Joseph S. Sir Peter ! — Oons — the devil ! 

Lady T. Sir Peter ! O lud — I'm ruined — I'm ru- 
ined ! 

Scrv. Sir, 'twasn't I let him in. 

Lady T. Oh ! I'm quite undone ! What will be- 
come of me .'' Now, Mr. Logic — Oh! he's on the 
stairs — I'll get behind here — and if ever I'm so im- 
prudent again — \^Goes heldnd the screen. 

Joscjjh S. Give me that book. [Sits down. 

Servant pretends to adjust his hair. 

Filter Sir Peter. 

Sir P. Ay, ever improving himself. — Mr. Surface, 
Mr. Surface 

Josepih S. Oh ! my dear Sir Peter, I beg your 
pardon — (Gaping — throios dozcm the book) — I have 
been dozing over a stupid book. — Well, I am much 
obliged to you for this call. You haven't been here, 
I believe, since I fitted up this room, — Books, you 
know, are the only things in which I am a coxcomb. 

Sir P. 'Tis very neat indeed. Well, well, that's 
proper ; and you can make even your screen a source 
of knowledge — hung, I perceive, with maps? 

Joseph S. O yes, I find great use in that screen. 

Sir P. I dare say you must, certainly, when you 
want to find any thing in a hurry. 

Joseph S. Or to hide any thing in a hurry either. 

[Jlsid^ . 



SHERIDAN. 137 

Sir P. Well, I have a little private business 

Joseph S. You need not stay, (to the Servant.) 

Serv. No, sir. [Exit. 

Joseph S. Here's a chair, Sir Peter — I beg 

Sir P. Well, now we are alone, there is a subject, 
my dear friend, on which 1 wish to unburthen my 
mind to you — a point of the greatest moment to my 
peace : in short, my dear friend. Lady Teazle's con- 
duct of late has made me extremely unhappy. 

Joseph S. Indeed ! I am sorry to hear it. 

Sir P. Ay, 'tis plain she has not the least regard 
for me; but, what's worse, I have pretty good au- 
thority to suppose she has formed an attachment to 
another. 

Joseph S. Indeed ! you astonish me ! 

Sir P. Yes ; and between ourselves, I think I've 
discovered the person. 

Joseph S. How ! you alarm me exceedingly. 

Sir P. Ay, my dear friend, I knew you would 
sympathize with me. 

Joseph S. Yes — believe me. Sir Peter, such a 
discovery would hurt me just as much as it would 
you. 

Sir P. I am convinced of it — Ah ! it is a happi- 
ness to have a friend whom we can trust even with 
one's family secrets. But have you no guess who I 
mean ? 

Joseph S. I haven't the most distant idea. It 
can't be Sir Benjamin Backbite .'' 

Sir P. Oh, no ! What say you to Charles ? 

Joseph S. My brother ! impossible ! 

Sir P. Oh ! my dear friend, the goodness of your 
own heart misleads you. You judge of others by 
yourself 



138 SHERIDAN. 

Joseph S. Certainly, Sir Peter, the heart tliat is 
conscious of its own integrity is ever slow to credit 
another's treachery. 

Sir P. True — but your brother has no sentiment 
— you never hear him talk so. 

Joseph S. Yet, I can't but think Lady Teazle 
herself has too much principle. 

Si7-P. Ay, — but what is principle against the 
flattery of a handsome, lively young fellow? 

Joseph S. That's very true. 

Sir P. And there's, you know, the difference of 
our ages makes it very improbable that she should 
have any great affection for me ; and if she were 
to be frail, and I were to make it public, why the 
town would only laugh at me, the foolish old bach- 
elor, who had married a girl. 

Joseph S. That's true, to be sure — they would 
laugh. 

Sir P. Laugh — ay, and make ballads, and para- 
graphs, and(|he devil knows what of me. 

Joseph S. No — you must never make it public. 

Sir P. But then again — that the nephew of my 
old friend, Sir Oliver, should be the person to at- 
tempt such a wrong, hurts one more nearly. 

Joseph S. Ay, there's the point. — When ingrati- 
tude barbs the dart of injury, the wound has double 
danger in it. 

Sir P. Ay — I that was, in a manner, left his 
guardian; in whose house he had been so often enter- 
tained; who never in my life denied him — my advice. 

Joseph S. O, 'tis not to be credited. There may 
be a man capable of such baseness, to be sure; but, 
for my part, till you can give me positive proofs, I 
cannot but doubt it. However, if it should be proved 



SHERIDAN. 139 

on him, he is no longer a brother of mine — 1 disclaim 
kindred with him ; for the man who can break the 
laws of hospitality, and tempt the wife of his friend, 
deserves to be branded as the pest of society. 

Sir P. What a difference there is between you ! 
What noble sentiments ! 

Joseph S. Yet I cannot suspect Lady Teazle's 
honour. 

Sir P. I am sure I wish to think well of her, and 
remove all grounds of quarrel between us. She has 
lately reproached me more than once with having made 
no settJeaient on her; and, in our last quarrel, she 
almost hinted that she should not break her heart if 
I were dead. Now, as we seem to differ in our ideas 
of expense, I have resolved she shall have her own 
way, and be her own mistress in that respect for the 
future ; and if I were to die, she shall find I have not 
been inattentive to her interest while living. Here, 
my friend, are the drafts of two deeds, which I wish 
to have your opinion on. — By one ^te will enjoy 
eight hundred a year independent while I live ; and 
by the other, the bulk of my fortune at my death. 

Joseph S. This conduct, Sir Peter, is indeed truly 
generous. — I wish it may not corrupt my pupil. 

[Aside. 

Sir P. Yes I am determined she shall have no 
cause to complain, though I would not have her ac- 
quainted with the latter instance of my affection yet 
awhile. 

Joseph S. Nor I, if I could help it. [Aside. 

Sir P. And now, my dear friend, if you please, we 
will talk over the situation of your affairs with Maria. 

Joseph S. [Softly.] O, no, Sir Peter; another time, 
if you please. 



140 SHERIDAN. 

Sir P. I am sensibly chagrined at the httle pro- 
gress you seem to make in her affection. 

Joseph S. I beg you will not mention it. What 
are my disappointments when your happiness is in 
debate ! [Softly} — 'Sdeath, I shall be ruined every 
way. [Aside. 

Sir P. And though you are so averse to my ac- 
quainting Lady Teazle with your passion for Maria, 
I'm sure she's not your enemy in the affair. 

Joseph S. Pray, Sir Peter, now, oblige me. I am 
really too much affected by the subject we have been 
speaking of to bestow a thought on my own con- 
cerns. The man who is intrusted with his friend's 
distresses can never 

Enter Servant. 

Well, sir ? ' 

Serv. Your brother, sir, is speaking to a gentleman 
in the street^and says he knows you are within. 

Joseph SS^death, blockhead, I'm not within — 
I'm out for the day. 

.S'i> P. Stay — hold — a thought has struck me, — 
you shall be at home. 

Joseph S. Well, well, let him up. — [Exit Servant.} 
—He'll interrupt Sir Peter, however. [Aside. 

Sir P. Now, my good friend, oblige me, I entreat 
you — Before Charles comes, let me conceal myself 
somewhere — then do you tax him on the point we 
have been talking, and his answer may satisfy me 
at once. 

Josej)h S. O fie, Sir Peter ! would you have me 
join in so mean a trick ? — to trepan my brother, too ? 

Sir P. Nay, you tell me you are sure he is inno- 
cent ; if so, you do him the greatest service by giving 



SHERIDAN. 141 

him an opportunity to clear himself, and you will set 
my heart at rest. Come, you shall not refuse me : 
here behind this screen will be — Hey ! what the 
devil ! there seems to be one listener there already — 
I'll swear I saw a petticoat ! 

Joseph S. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Well, this is ridiculous 
enough. I'll tell you. Sir Peter, though I hold a 
man of intrigue to be the most despicable character, 
yet you know, it does not follow that one is to be an 
absolute Joseph either ! Hark'ee, 'tis a little French 
milliner— a silly rogue that plagues me — and having 
some character to lose, on your coming, sir, she ran 
behind the screen. 

Sir P. Ah I you rogue ! But, egad, she has over- 
heard all I have been saying of my wife. 

Joseph S. O, 'twill never go any farther, you may 
depend upon it. 

Si7- P. No then, faith, let her hear it out — Here's 
a closet will do as well. 

Joseph S. Well, go in there. 

Sir P. Sly rogue ! sly rogue ! 

[Going into the closet. 

Joseph S. A narrow escape, indeed ! and a curious 
situation I'm in, to part man and wife in this manner. 

Ladij T. [Peeping.'] Could'nt I steal off.? 

Joseph S. Keep close, my angel. 

Sir P. [Peeping.] Joseph, tax him home. 

J. Siirf. Back, my friend ! 

Lady T. Couldn't you lock Sir Peter in '$ 

J. Surf. Be still, my life ! 

Sir P. [Peeping.] Your sure the little milliner 
won'^t blab ? 

J. Surf. In, in, my good Sir Peter — 'Fore gad, I 
wish I had a key to the door. 



142 SHERIDAN. 

Enter Charles Surface. 

C. Surf. Hallo ! brother, what has been the matter? 
Your fellow would not let me up at first. What ! 
have you a Jew or a wench with you ? 

J. Surf. Neither, brother, I assure you. 

C. Surf. But what has made Sir Peter steal off? I 
thought he had been with you. 

J. Surf. He was, brother ; but hearing you were 
coming, he did not choose to stay. 

C. Surf. What ! was the old gentleman afraid I 
wanted to borrow money of him .? 

J. Surf No sir : but I am sorry to find, Charles, 
you have lately given that worthy man grounds for 
great uneasiness. 

C. Surf. Yes, they tell me I do that to a great many 
worthy men. — But how so, pray ? 

J. Surf. To be plain with you, brother — he thinks 
you are endeavouring to gain Lady Teazle's affec- 
tions from him. 

C. Surf. Who, I .'' O Lord ! not I, upon my 
word. — Ha !'ha ! ha ! ha! so the old fellow has 
found out he has got a young wife, has he ? — or, 
what is worse. Lady Teazle has found out that she 
has an old husband ! 

J. Siirf This is no subject to jest on, brother. He 
who can laugh 

C. Surf. True, true, as you were going to say — 
then, seriously, I never had the least idea of what 
you charge me with, upon my honour. 

J. Surf Well, it will give Sir Peter great satisfac- 
tion to hear this. [Aloud. 

.C. Surf To be sure, I once thought the lady seem- 
ed to have taken a fancy to me ; but upon my soul, I 



SHERIDAN. 143 

never gave her the least encouragement : — besides, 
you know my attachment to Maria. 

J. Surf. But sure brother, even if Lady Teazle 
had betrayed the fondest partiality for you 

C. Surf. Why look'ee, Joseph, I hope I shall 
never deliberately do a dishonourable action ; but if a 
pretty v/oman were purposely to throw herself in my 
way — and that pretty woman married to a man old 
enough to be her father 

J. Surf Well 

C. Surf Why, I believe I should be obliged to 
borrow a little of your morality, that's all. — But, 
brother, do you know now that you surprise me ex- 
ceedingly, by naming me with Lady Teazle ; for, 
faith, I always understood you were her favourite. 

J. Surf. O, for shame, Charles ! This retort is 
foolish. 

C. Surf Nay, I swear I have seen you exchange 
such significant glances 

./. Surf Nay, nay, sir, this is no jest. 

C. Surf Egad I'm serious. — Don't you remember 
one day when I called here 

J. Surf. 'Nay, prithee, Charles 

C. Surf And found you together 

J. Surf Zounds, sir ! I insist 

C. Surf. And another time when your servant 

J. Surf Brother, brother, a word with you. — Gad, 
I must stop him. Inside. 

C. Surf Informed, I say, that 

J. Surf. Hush ! I beg your pardon, but Sir Peter 
h-as overheard all we have been saying. I knew you 
would clear yourself, or I sliould not have consented. 

C. Surf. How, Sir Peter ! where is he ? 

J. Su7f. Softly ; there ! [Points to the closet. 



144 SHERIDAN. 

C. Surf. O 'fore heaven, I'll have him out. Sir 
Peter, come forth ! 

J. Surf. No, no 

C. Surf. I say, Sir Peter, come into court — [pulls 
in Sir Peter.] — What ! my old guardian ! What ! 
turn inquisitor, and take evidence incog. ? 

Sir P. Give me your hand, Charles — I believe I 
have suspected you wrongfully ; but you mustn't be 
angry with Joseph — 'twas my plan ! 

C^Siirf. Indeed ! 

Sir P. But I acquit you. I promise you I don't 
think near so ill of you as I did : what I have heard 
has given me great satisfaction. 

C. Surf Egad, then, 'twas lucky you didn't hear 
any more — wasn't it, Joseph ? [Apart to Joseph. 

Sir P. Ah ! you would have retorted on him. 

C. Surf Ay, ay, that was a joke. 

-Sir P. Yes, yes, I know his honour too well. 

C. Surf But you might as well have suspected 
him as me in this matter, for all that — mightn't he, 
Joseph ? [Apart to Joseph. 

Sir P. Well, well, I believe you. 

J. Surf. Would they were both well out of the 
room. [Aside. 

Enter Servant, and whispers to Joseph Surface. 

Sir P. And in future perhaps we may not be such 
strangers. 

J. Surf. Gentlemen, I beg pardon — I must wait on 
you down stairs : here is a person come on particular 
business. 

C. Surf. Well, you can see him in another room. 
Sir Peter and I have not met a long time, and I have 
something to say to him. 



SHERIDAN. 



145 



J. Surf. They must not be left together. [Aside. 
•I'll send this man away, and return directly. — Sir 
Peter, not a word of the French milliner. 

[Apart to Sir Peter, and goes out. 

Sir P. I ! not for the world ! [Apart to Joseph. 
Ah ! Charles, if you associated more with your bro- 
ther, one might indeed hope for your reformation. 
He is a man of sentiment ! — Well, there is nothing 
in the world so noble as a man of sentiment ! 

C. Surf. Pshaw ! he is too moral by half— and so 
apprehensive of his good name, as he calls it, that I 
suppose he would as soon let a priest into his house 
as a girl. • 

Sir P. No, no — come, come — you wrong him. — 
No, no I Joseph is no rake, but he is no such saint 
either in that respect. I have a great mind to tell 
him — we should have a laugh at Joseph. [Aside. 

C. Surf. Oh, hang him! He's a very anchorite, a 
young hermit. 

Sir P. Hark'ee — you must not abuse him : he 
may chance to hear of it again, I promise you. 

C. Surf. Why, you won't tell him ? 

Sir P. No— but— this way. Egad I'll tell him. 
[Aside.l Hark'ee, have you a mind to have a good 
laugh at Joseph .'' 

C. Surf. I should like it of all things ! 

Sir P. Then i'faith, we will. I'll be quit with him 
for discovering me. He had a girl with him when I 
called. 

C. Surf. What ! Joseph .'' you jest. 

Sir P. Hush ! — a little French milliner — and the 
best of the jest is, she's in the room now. 

C. Surf The devil she is ! 

.Sir P. Hush ! I tell you ! [Points. 

H 



146 



SHERIDAN. 



C. Surf. Beliind the screen ! 'Slife, let's unveil 
her ! 

Sa- P. No, no — he's coming — you sha'nt, in- 
deed ! 

C. Sttrf. O, egad, we'll have a peep at the little 
milliner ! 

Sir P. Not for the world— Joseph will never for- 
give me 

C. Surf. I'll stand by you 

'SVV p. Odds, here he is. [Joseph Surface enters 
just as CkarJcs Surface throws dmcn the screen^ 

C. Surf. Lady Teazle, by all that's wonderful ! 

Sir P. Lady Teazle, by all that's damnable ! 

C. Surf. Sir Peter, this is one of the smartest 
French milhners I ever saw. Egad, you seem all to 
have been diverting yourselves here at hide ^nd 
seek, and I don't see who is out of the secret. Shall 
I beg your ladyship to inform me ^ Not a word ! — 
Brother, will you be pleased to explain this matter.' 
"What! is Morality dum'b too.' — Sir Peter, though I 
found you in the dark, perhaps you are not so now ! 
All mute ! — Well, though I can make nothing of this 
affair, I suppose you perfectly understand one an- 
other — so I'll leave you to yourselves. [Going.'] — 
Brother, I'm sorrj'^ to find you have given that 
worthy man cause for so much uneasiness. — Sir Pe- 
ter ! there's notliing in the world so noble as a man 
of sentiment ! [Exit Charles. 

[They stand for some time looking at each other.'] 

J. Satf. Sir Peter — notwithstanding — I confess — 
that appearances are against me — if you will afford 
me your patience — I make no doubt — but I shall ex- 
plain every thing to your satisfaction. 

Sir P. If you please, sir. 



SHERIBAN. 147 

J. Surf. The fact is, sir, that Lady Teazle, know- 
ing my pretensions *to your ward Maria — I say, sir, 
— Lady Teazle, being apprehensive of the jealousy 
of your temper — and knowing my friendship to the 
family — She, sir, I say — called here — in order that — 
I might explain those pretensions — but on your com- 
ing — being apprehensive — as I said — of your jeal- 
ousy — she withdrew — and this, you may depend on 
it, is the whole truth of the matter. 

Sir P. A very clear account, upon my word ; and 
I dare swear the lady will vouch for every article 
of it. 

Lady T. For not one word of it. Sir Peter ! 

Sir P. How ! don't you think it worth while to 
agree in the lie ? 

, Lady T. There is not one syllable of truth in what 
that gentleman has told you. 

Sir P. I believe you, upon my soul, ma'am ! 

J. Surf. [Aside] 'Sdeath, madam, will you betray 



me 



Lady T. Good Mr. Hypocrite, by your leave, I'll 
speak for myself. 

Sir P. Ay, let her alone, sir ;. you'll find she '11 
make out a better story than you, without prompting. 

Lady T. Hear me. Sir Peter ! — I came hither on 
no matter relating to your ward, and even ignorant 
of this gentleman's pretensions to her. But I came 
seduced by his insidious arguments, at least to listen 
to his pretended passion, if not to sacrifice your hon- 
our to his baseness. 

Sir P. Now, I believe, the truth is coming in- 
deed ! 

J. Surf. The woman's mad ! 

Lady T. No, sir, — she has recovered her senses, 



148 SHERIDAN. 

and your own arts have furnished her with the 
means. Sir Peter, 1 do not expect you to credit 
me — but the tenderness you expressed for me, when I 
am sure you could not think I was a witness to it, 
has penetrated so to my heart, that had I left the 
place without the shame of this discovery, my future 
life should have spoken the sincerity of my gratitude. 
As for that smooth-tongued hypocrite, who would 
have seduced the wife of his too credulous friend, 
while he affected honourable addresses to his ward 
— I behold him now in a light so truly despicable, 
that I shall never again respect myself for having 
listened to him. [Eiit Lady Teazle. 

J. Surf. Notwithstanding all this. Sir Peter, 
Heaven knovv^s 

Sir Peter. That ycu are a villain! and so I leave 
you to your conscience. 

J. Surf. You are too rash, Sir Peter; you shall 
hear me. The man who shuts out conviction by re- 
fusing to 

[Exeunt Sir Peter and Surface, talking. 

FROM " THE CRITIC." ACT I. SCE^E I. 

Mr. and Mrs. Dangle at breakfast, and reading 
newspapers. 

Dan. [Reading] " Brutus to Lqrd JVorth.^' — 
" Letter the second on the State of the Army.'' — 
Pshaw ! " To the first L—dash DoftheA—dash F." 
— " Genuine Extract of a Letter from St. Kitt's.'" — 
'' Coxheath Intelligence.''' — " It is noio confidently 
asserted that Sir Charles Hardy' — Pshaw ! — Nothing 
but about the fleet and the nation ! — and I hate all 
politics but theatrical politics — Where's the Morn- 
ing Chronicle ? 



SHIRIDAN. 149 

Mrs. Dan. Yes, that's your gazette. 

Dan. So, here we have it. — " Theatricalintelligence 
extraordinary. — We hear there is a neic tragedy in re- 
hearsal at Drurij-Lane Theatre, called the Spanish 
Armada, said to he written by Mr. Puff, a gentleman 
well known in the theatrical loorld : if we may allow 
ourselves to give credit to the report of the performers, 
loho, truth to say, are in general but indifferent judges, 
this piece abounds icith the most striking and received 
beauties of modern composition.'' So! I am very 
glad my friend Puff's tragedy is in such forward- 
ness. Mrs. Dangle, my dear, you will be very glad 
to hear that Puff's tragedy 

Mrs. Dan. Lord, Mr. Dangle, why will you plague 
me about such nonsense ? — Now the plays are begun 
I shall have no peace. — Isn't it sufficient to make 
yourself ridiculous by your passion for the theatre, 
without continually teasing me to join you ? Why 
can't you ride your hobby horse without desiring to 
place me on a pillion behind you, Mr. Dangle ? 

Dan. Nay, my dear, I was only going to read — 

Mrs. Dan. No, no ; you will never read any thing 
that's worth listening to : — you hate to hear about 
your country; there are letters every day with Roman 
signatures, demonstrating the certainty of an inva- 
sion, and proving that the nation is utterly undone. 
— But you never will read any thing to entertain one. 

Dan. What has a woman to do with politics, Mrs. 
Dangle ? 

Mrs. Dan. And what have you to do with the 
theatre, Mr. Dangle.? Why should you affect the 
character of a critic .'' I have no patience with you ! 
haven't you made yourself the jest of all your ac- 
quaintance by your interference in matters where you 



150 SHERIDAN. 

have no business ? Are not you called a theatrical 
quidnunc, and a mock Maecenas to second hand au- 
thors ? 

Dan. True ; my power with the managers is pretty 
notorious : but is it no credit to have applications from 
all quarters for my interest ? — From lords to recom- 
mend fiddlers, from ladies to get boxes, from authors 
to get answers, and from actors to get engagements ? 

Mrs. Dan. Yes, truly ; you have contrived to get 
a share in all the plague and trouble of theatrical 
properrty, without the profit, or even the credit of the 
abuse that attends it. 

Dan. I am sure, Mrs. Dangle, you are no loser by 
it, however ; ?/oii have all the advantages of it: — 
mightn't you, last winter, have had the reading of 
the new pantOinime a fortniglit previous to its per- 
formance.'' And doesn't Mr. Fosbrook let you take 
places for a play before it is advertised, and set you 
down for a box for every new piece through the sea- 
son .-^ And didn't my friend, Mr. Smatter, dedicate his 
lastfarce to you at my particular request, Mrs. Dangle.^ 

Mrs. Dan. Yes ! but wasn't the farce damned, Mr. 
Dangle ^ And to be sure it is extremely pleasant to 
have one's house made the motley rendezvous of all 
the lacqueys of literature : — the very high change of 
trading authors and jobbing critics ! — Yes, my draw- 
ing-room is an absolute register ofllice for candidate 
actors, and poets without character ; then to be con- 
tinually alarmed with misses and ma'ams piping hys- 
teric changes on Juliets and Dorindas, Pollys and 
Ophelias ; and the very furniture trembling at the 
probationary starts and unprovoked rants of would- 
be Richards and Hamlets ! — And what is worse than 
all, now that the manager has monopolized the Opera- 



SHERIDAN. 151 

house, haven't we the signers and signoras calling 
here, sliding their smooth semi-breves, and gargling 
glib divisions in their outlandish throats — with for- 
eign emissaries and French spies, for aught I know, 
disguised like fiddlers and figure dancers ? 

Dan. Mercy ! Mrs. Dangle ! 

Mrs. Dan. And to employ yourself so idly at such 
an alarming crisis as this too — when if you had the 
least spirit, you would have been at the head of one 
of the Westminster associations — ortrailinga volun- 
teer pike in the Artillery Ground! — But you — o" my 
conscience, I believe if the French were landed to- 
morrow, your first inquiry would be, whether they 
had brought a theatrical troop with them. 

Dan. Mrs. Dangle, it does not signify — I say the 
stage is *' The Mirror of Nature," and the actors 
are ''The Abstract and brief Chronicles of the Time :" 
— and pray, what can a man of sense study better .^ — 
Besides, you will not easily persuade me that there is 
no credit or importance in being at the head of a band 
of critics, who take upon them to decide for the whole 
town, whose opinion and patronage all writers solicit, 
and whose recommendation no manager dares refuse. 

Mrs. Dan. Ridiculous ! — Both managers and au- 
thors of the least merit laugh at your pretensions. 
The public is their critic — without whose fair appro- 
bation they know no play can rest on the stage, and 
with whose applause they welcome such attacks as 
yours, and laugh at the malice of them, where they 
can't at the wit. 

Dan. Yerj well, madam — very well. 

Enter Servant. 
Ser. Mr. Sneer, sir, to wait on you. 



152 



SHERIDAN. 



Dan. O, show Mr. Sneer up — [Exit Servant.] — 
Plague on't, now we must appear loving and affec- 
tionate, or Sneer will hitch us into a story. 

Mrs. Dan. With all my heart ; you can't be more 
ridiculous than you are: 

Dan. You are enough to provoke — 

Enter Mr. Sneer. 
Ha ! my dear Sneer, I am vastly glad to see you — 
My dear, here's Mr. Sneer. 

Mrs. Dan. Good morning to you, sir. 

Dan. Mrs. Dangle and I have been diverting our- 
selves with the papers. Pray, Sneer, won't you go to 
Drury-Lane theatre the first night of Puff's tragedy.? 

Sneer. Yes ; but I suppose one shan't be able to 
get in, for on the first night of a new piece they al- 
ways fill the house with orders to support it. But 
here, Dang-le, I have brought you two pieces, one of 
which you must exert yourself to make the mana- 
gers accept, I can tell you that ; for 'tis written by a 
person of consequence. 

Dan. So ! now my plagues are beginning. 

Sneer. Ay, I am glad of it, for now you'll be hap- 
py. Why, my dear Dangle, it is a pleasure to see 
how you enjoy your volunteer fatigue, and your so- 
licited solicitations. 

Dan. It's a great trouble — yet, egad, it's pleasant 
too. — Why, sometimes of a morning I have a dozen 
people call on me at breakfast time, whose faces I 
never saw before, nor ever desire to see again. 

Sneer. That must be very pleasant indeed ! 

Dan. And not a week but I receive fifty letters, 
and not a line in them about any business of my own^ 

Sneer. An amusing correspondence I 



SHERIDAN. 153 

Dan. [Reading.'] " Bursts into tears, and exit.'' — 
What, is this a tragedy ? 

Sneer. No, that's a genteel comedy, not a transla- 
tion — only taken froin the French : it is written in a 
style which they have lately tried to run down ; the 
true sentimental, and nothing ridiculous in it from 
the beginning to the end. 

Mrs. Dan. Well, if they had kept to that, I shpuld 
not have been such an enemy to the stage : there was 
some edification to be got from those pieces'Mr. Sneer ! 

Sneer. I am quite of your opinion, Mrs. Dangle : 
the theatre, in proper hands, might certainly be made 
the school of morality ; but now, I am sorry to say it, 
people seem to go there principally for their enter- 
tainment ! 

Mrs. Dan. It would have been more to the credit 
of the managers to have kept it in the other line. 

Sneer. Undoubtedly, madam ; and hereafter per- 
haps to have had it recorded, that in the midst of a 
luxurious and dissipated age, they preserved tico 
houses in the capital, where the conversation was 
always moral at least, if not entertaining. 

Dun. Now, egad, I think the worst alteration is in 
the nicety of the audience. No double entendre, no 
smart inuendo admitted : even Vanbrugh and Con- 
greve obliged to undergo a bungling reformation ! 

Sneer. Yes, and our prudery in this respect is just 
on a par with the artificial bashfulness of a courte- 
zan, who increases the blush upon her cheek in an 
exact proportion to the diminution of her modesty. 

Dan. Sneer cant even give the public a good word! 
But what have we here ? — This seems a very odd — 

Sneer. O, that's a comedy, on a very new plan ; 

h2 



154 SHERIDAN. 

replete with wit and mirth, yet of a most serious mor- 
al ! You see it is called " The Reformed Housebreak- 
er ;" where, by the mere force of humour, house- 
breaking is put into so ridiculous a light, that if the 
piece has its proper run, I have no doubt that bolts and 
bars will be entirely useless by the end of the season. 

Dan. Egad, this is new indeed ! 

Sneer. Yes ; it is written by a particular friend of 
mine, who has discovered that the follies and foi- 
bles of society are subjects unworthy of the Comic 
Muse, who should be taught to stoop only at the 
greater vices and blacker crimes of humanity — gib- 
beting capital offences in five acts, and pillorying 
petty larcenies in two. — In short, his idea is to dra- 
matize the penal laws, and to make the stage a court 
of ease to the Old Bailey. 

Dan. It is truly moral. 

Enter Servant. 

Ser. Sir Fretful Plagiary, sir. 

Dan. Beg him to walk up. [Exit Servant.} Now, 
Mrs. Dangle, Sir Fretful Plagiary is an author to 
your own taste. 

Mrs. Dan. I confess he is a favourite of mine, be- 
cause every body else abuses him. 

Sneer. Very much to the credit of your charity, 
if not of your judgment. 

Dan. But, egad, he allows no merit to any author 
but himself, that's the truth on't — though he's my 
friend. 

Sneer. Never. — He is as envious as an old maid 
verging on the desperation of six-and-thirty : and 
then the insidious humility with which he seduces 



SHERIDAN. 155 

you to give a free opinion on any of his works, can 
be exceeded only by the petulant arrogance with 
which he is sure to reject your observations. 

Dan. Very true, — egad ! though he's my friend. 

Sneer. Then his affected contempt of all newspa- 
per strictures; though, at the same time, he is the 
sorest man alive, and shrinks like scorched parch- 
ment from the fiery ordeal of true criticism : yet he 
is so covetous of popularity, that he had rather be 
abused than not mentioned at all. 

Dan. There's no denying it — though he is my 
friend. 

Sneer. You have read the tragedy he has just fin- 
ished, haven't you? 

Dan. O yes ; he sent it to me yesterday. 

Sneer. Well, and you think it execrable, don't 
you ? 

Dan. Why, between ourselves, egad, I must own — 

though he is my friend — that it is one of the most 

He's here — \_Jlside'\ — finished and most admirable 
perform 

\_Sir Fretful without.'] Mr. Sneer with him, did 
you say ? 

Enter Sir Fretful Plagianj. 

Dan. Ah, my dear friend ! — Egad, we were just 
speaking of your tragedy. — Admirable, Sir Fretful, 
admirable I 

Sneer. You never did any thing beyond it. Sir 
Fretful — never in your life. 

Sir F. You make me extremely happy ; for, with- 
out a compliment, my dear Sneer, there is'nt a man 
in the world whose judgment I value as I do your 's 
—and Mr, Dangle's. 



156 SHERIDAN. 

Mrs. Dan. They are only laughing at you, Sir 
Fretful ; for it was but just now that 

Dan. Mrs. Dangle ! — Ah, Sir Fretful, you know 
Mrs. Dangle. — My friend Sneer was rallying just 
now He knows how she admires you, and 

Sir F. O Lord, I am sure Mr. Sneer has more 
taste and sincerity than to A damned double- 
faced fellow ! [Aside. 

Dan. Yes, yes, — Sneer will jest — but a better-hu- 
m6ured 



Sir F. O, I know- 



Dan. He has a ready turn for ridicule — his wit 
costs him nothing. 

Sir F. No, egad, — or I should wonder how he 
came by it. [Aside. 

Mrs. Dan. Because his jest is always at the ex- 
pense of his friend. 

Dan. But, Sir Fretful, have you sent your play to 
the Managers yet ; — or can I be of any service to 
you.'' 

Sir F. No, no, I thank you ; I believe the piece 
had sufficient recommendation with it. — I thank you, 
though — I sent it to the manager of Covent-garden 
theatre this morning. 

Sneer. I should have thought that it might have 
been cast (as the actors call it) better at Drury 
Lane. 

Sir F. O lud ! no — never send a play there while 
I live — hark 'ee ! [Whispers Sneer. 

Sneer. Writes himself! — I know he does 

Sir F. I say nothing — I take away from no man's 
merit — am hurt at no man's good fortune — I say no- 
thing. But this I will say, through all my knowl- 
edge of life I have observed, that there is not a 



SHERIDAN. 157 

passion so strongly rooted in the human heart as 
envy ! 

Sneer. I believe you have reason for what you say, 
indeed. 

Sir F. Besides, I can tell you it is not always so 
safe to leave a play in the hands of those who write 
themselves. 

Sneer. What, they may steal from them, hey, my 
dear Plagiary ? 

Sir F. Steal! to be sure they may; and, egad, 
serve your best thoughts as gypsies do stolen chil- 
dren, disfigure them to make 'em pass for their own. 

Sneer. But your present work is a sacrifice to Mel- 
pomene, and he you know never 

Sir F. That's no security. A dexterous plagiarist 
may do any thing. Why, sir, for aught I know, he 
might take out some of the best things in my trage- 
dy, and put them in his own comedy. 

Sneer. That might be done, I dare be sworn. 

Sir F. And then, if such person gives you the 
least hint or assistance, he is devilish apt to take the 
merit of the whole 

Dan. l^'ii succeeds. 

Sir F. Ay ; but with regard to this piece, I think 
I can hit that gentleman, for I can safely swear he 
never read it. 

Sneer. I'll tell you how you may hurt him more. 

Sir F. How ? 

Sneer. Swear he wrote it. 

Sir E. Plague on't now, Sneer, I shall take it ill. 
— I believe you want to take away my character as 
an author. 

Sneer. Then I am sure you ought to be very much 
obliged to me. 



158 SHERIDAN. 

Sir F. Hey ! sir ! 

Dan. O you know he never means what he say.s. 

Sir F. Sincerely then — do you like the piece ? 

Sneer. Wonderfully ! 

Sir F. But come now, there must be something 
that you think might be mended, hey ? — Mr. Dan- 
gle, has nothing struck you? 

Dan. Why, faith, it is but an ungracious thing, 
for the most part, to 

Sir F. With most authors it is just so indeed ; 
they are in general strangely tenacious ! But for n\y 
part I am never so well pleased as when a judicious 
critic points out any defect to me ; for what is the 
purpose of showing a work to a friend, if you don't 
mean to profit by his opinion ? 

Sneer. Very true. Why, then, though I seriously 
admire the piece upon the whole, yet there is one 
small objection ; which, if you'll give me leave, I'll 
mention. 

Sir F. Sir, you can't oblige me more. 

Sneer. I think it wants incident. 

Sir F. Good God ! you surprise me ! — wants inci- 
dent ! 

Sneer. Yes ; I own I think the incidents are too 
few. 

Sir F. Good God! Believe me Mr. Sneer, there 
is no person for whose judgment I have a more im- 
plicit deference. But I protest to you, Mr. Sneer, I 
am only apprehensive that the incidents are too 
crowded. — My dear Dangle, how does it strike 
you ? 

Dan. Really I can't agree with my friend Sneer. I 
think the plot quite sufficient ; and the first four acts by 
many degrees the best I ever read or saw in ray lifts 



SHERIDAN, 159 

If I might venture to suggest anything, it is that the 
interest rather falls off in the fifth. 

Sir F. Rises, I believe you mean, sir. 

Dan. No, I don't, upon my word. 

Sir F. Yes, yes, you do, upon my soul ; it cer- 
tainly don't fall off, I assure you. No, no; it don't 
fall off. 

Dan. Now Mrs. Dangle, didn't you say that it 
struck you in the same light .'' 

Mrs. Dan. No, indeed, I did not. I did not see a 
fault in any part of the play from the beginning to 
the end. 

Sir F. Upon my soul, the women are the best 
judges after all ! 

Mrs. Dan. Or if I made any objection, I am sure 
it was to nothing in the piece ; but that I was afraid 
it was on the whole a httle too long. 

Sir F. Pray, madam, do you speak as to duration 
of time ; or do you mean that the story is tediously 
spun out.^ 

Mrs. Dan. O lud ! no. I speak only with re- 
ference to the usual length of acting plays. 

Sir F. Then I am very happy, very happy in- 
deed, — because the play is a short play, a remarkably 
short play : 1 should not venture to differ with a lady 
on a point of taste ; but on these occasions, the 
watch, you know, is the critic. 

Mrs. Dan. Then I suppose it must have been 
Mr. Dangle's drawling manner of reading it to me. 

Sir F. O, if Mr. Dangle read it, that's quite an- 
other affair ! But I assure you, Mrs. Dangle, the 
first evening you can spare me three hours and a half, 
I'll undertake to read you the whole from beginning 



160 SHERIDAN. 

to end, with the prologue and epilogue, and allow 
time for the music between the acts. 

Mrs. Dan. I hope to see it on the stage next. 

Dan. Well Sir Fretful, I wish you may be able to 
get rid as easily of the newspaper criticisms as you 
do of ours. 

Sir F. The newspapers ! Sir, they are the most 

villanous — licentious — abominable — infernal Not 

that I ever read them No — I make it a rule never 

to look into a newspaper. 

Dan. You are quite right; for it certainly must 
hurt an author of delicate feelings to see the liber- 
ties tliey take. 

Sir F. No I quite the contrary j their abuse is, in 
fact, the best panegyric — I like it of all things. An 
author's reputation is only in danger from their sup- 
port. 

Sneer. Why that's true — and that attack, now, on 
you the other day 

Sir F. What.' where.? 

Da7i. Ay, you mean in a paper of Thursday : it 
was completely ill-natured to be sure. 

Sir F. O, so much the better. Ha ! ha ! ha 1 
I wouldn't have it otherwise. 

Dan. Certainly it is only to be laughed at, for 

Sir F. You don't happen to recollect what the fel- 
low said, do you ? 

Sneer. Pray, Dangle, — Sir Fretful seems a little 
anxious 

Sir F. O lud, no ! — anxious, — not I, — not the least 
— I — But one may as well hear, you know. 

Dan. Sneer do yau recollect .-* Make out some- 
thing. {/Iside, 



SHERIDAN. 161 

Sneer. I will. [^To Dangle.] Yes, yes, I remember 
perfectly. 

Sir F. Well, and pray now — not that it signifies — 
what might the gentleman say ? 

Sneer. Why, he roundly asserts that you have not 
the slightest invention or original genius whatever ; 
though you are the greatest traducer of all other au- 
thors living. 

Sir F. Ha ! ha ! ha ! — very good ! 

Sneer. That, as to comedy, you have not one idea 
of your own, he believes, even in your common-place 
book, where stray jokes and pilfered witticisms are 
kept with as much method as the ledger of the lost 
and stolen office. 

Sir F. Ha ! ha ! ha ! — very pleasant ! 

Sneer. Nay, that you are so unlucky as not to have 
the skill even to steal with taste •. but that you glean 
from the refuse of obscure volumes, where more ju- 
dicious plagiarists have been before you : so that the 
body of your work is a composition of dregs and 
sediments, like a bad tavern's worst wine. 

Sir F. Ha ! ha ! 

Sneer. In your most serious effiDrts, he says, your 
bombast would be less intolerable, if the thoughts 
^ were ever suited to the expression; but the homeli- 
ness of the sentiment stares through the fantastic in- 
cumbrance of its fine language, like a clown in one 
of the new uniforms ! 

Sir F. Ha ! ha ! 

Sneer. That your occasional tropes and flowers 
suit the general coarseness of your style, as tambour 
sprigs would a ground of linsey-woolsey ; while your 
imitations of Shakspeare resemble the mimicry of 



162 SHERIDAN. 

FalstafF's page, "and are about as near the standard 
of the original. 

Sir F. Ha ! 

Sneer. In short, that even the finest passages you 
steal are of no service to you ; for the poverty of your 
own language prevents their assimulating ; so that 
they lie on the surface like lumps of marl on a barren 
moor, encumbering what is not in their power to fer- 
tilize ! 

Sir F. (after great agitation) — Now another per- 
son would be vexed at this. 

Sneer. Oh ! but I wouldn't have told you, only to 
divert you. 

Sir F. I know it — I ain diverted. — Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
— not the least invention! — Ha! ha! ha I very 
good ! — very good ! 

Sneer. Yes — no genius ! Ha ! ha ! ha I 

Dan. A severe rogue I Ha ! ha ! ha ! But you are 
quite right, Sir Fretful, never to read such nonsense. 

Sir F. To be sure — for if there is any thing to 
praise, it is a foolish vanity to be gratified at it; and 
if it is abuse, why one is always sure to hear of it 
from one damned good-natured friend or another ! 

Enter Servant. 

Serv. Sir, there is an Italian gentleman, with a 
French interpreter, and three young ladies, and a 
dozen musicians, who say they are sent by Lady 
Rondeau and Mrs. Fugue. 

Dan. Gad so ! they come by appointment. Dear 
Mrs. Dangle, do let them know I'll see them di- 
rectly. 

Mrs. Dan. You know, Mr. Dangle, I shan't unde - 
stand a word they say. 



SHERIDAN. 163 

Dan. But you hear there's an interpreter. 

Mrs. Dan. Well, I'll try and endure their com- 
plaisance till you come. {Exit. 

Serv. And Mr. PufF, sir, has sent word that the 
last rehearsal is to be this morning, ajid that he'll call 
on you presently. 

Dan. That's true — I shall certamly be at home. 

{Exit Servt. 
Now, Sir Fretful, if you have a mind to have 
justice done you in the way of answer, egad, Mr. 
Puff's your man. 

Sir F. Pshaw ! Sir, why should I wish to have it 
answered, when I tell you I am pleased at it .'' 

Dan. True, I had forgot that. But I hope you 
are not fretted at what Mr. Sneer 

Sir F. Zounds I no, Mr. Dangle ; don't I tell you 
these things never fret me in the least ? 

Dan. Nay, I only thought 

Sir F. And let me tell you, Mr. Dangle, 'tis 
damned affronting in you to suppose that I am hurt, 
when I tell you I am not. 

Sneer. But why so warm. Sir Fretful ? 

Sir F. Gad's life ! Mr. Sneer, you are as absurd 
as Dangle : how often must I repeat it to you that 
nothing can vex me but your supposing it possible for 
me to mind the damned nonsense you have been re- 
peating to me ! — and let me tell you, if you continue 
to believe this, you must mean to insult me, gentle- 
men, — and then your disrespect will affect me no 
more than the newspaper criticisms — and I shall treat 
it with the same calm indifference and philosophic 
contempt — and so your servant. {Exit. 

Sneer. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Poor Sir Fretful ! Now will 
he go and vent his philosophy in anonymous abuse of 



164 SHERIDAN. 

all modern critics and authors. — But, Dangle, you 
must get your friend Puff to take me to the rehear- 
sal of his tragedy. 

Dan. I'll answer for't, he'll thank you for desiring 
it. But come and help me to judge of the musical 
family : they are recommended by people of conse- 
quence, I assure you. 

Sneer. I am at your disposal the whole morning : 
but I thought you had been a decided critic in music 
as well as in literature. 

Dan. So I am — but I have a bad ear. I' faith, 
Sneer, though, I am afraid we were a little too severe 
on Sir Fretful — though he is my friend. 

Sneer. Why 'tis certain, that unnecessarily to 
mortify the vanity of any writer is a cruelty which 
mere dullness never can deserve ; but where a base 
and personal malignity usurps the place of literary 
emulation, the aggressor deserves neither quarter nor 
pity. 

Dan. That's true, egad ! — though he's my friend ! 

FROM ACT I. SCENE 11. 

Enter Puff. 

Puff. My dear Dangle, how is it with you ^ 

Dan. Mr. Sneer, give me leave to introduce Mr. 
Puff to you. 

Puff. Mr. Sneer is this ? — Sir, he is a gentleman 
whom I have long panted for the honour of know- 
ing — a gentleman whose critical talents and tran- 
scendent judgment 

Sneer. Dear sir 

Dan. Nay, don't be modest. Sneer; my friend 
Puff only talks to you in the style of his profession. 

Sneer. His profession ! 



SHERIDAN. 165 

r. Yes, sir ; I make no secret of the trade I 
follow among friends and brother authors. Dangle 
knows I love to be frank on the subject, and to adver- 
tise myself viva voce — I am, sir, a practitioner in 
panegyric, or, to speak more plainly, a professor of 
the art of puffing, at your service — or any one else's. 

Sneer. Sir, you are very obliging ! — I believe, Mr. 
Puff, I have often admired your talents in the daily 
prints .^ 

P^tff. Yes, sir, I flatter myself I do as much busi- 
ness in that way as any six of the fraternity in town. 
— Devlish hard work all the summer. Friend Dangle 
— never worked harder ! But hark'ee, — the winter 
managers were a little sore, I believe. 

Dan. No, I believe they took it all in good part. 

Puff. Ay ! — then that must have been affectation 
in them ; for, egad, there were some of the attacks 
that there was no laugiiing at ! 

Sneer. Ay, the humorous ones : — But I should 
think, Mr. Puff", that authors would in general be 
able to do this sort of work for themselves. 

Puff. Why, yes, — but in a clumsy way : besides, 
we look on that as an encroachment, and so take 
the opposite side. I dare say, now, you conceive 
half the very civil paragraphs and advertisements 
you see to be written by the parties concerned, or 
their friends? — No such thing: nine out of ten 
manufactured by me in the way of business. 

Sneer. Indeed ! 

Puff. Even the auctioneers now — the auctioneers, 
I say — though the rogues have lately got some credit 
for their language — not an article of merit theirs, 
take them out of their pulpits, and they are as dull as 
catalogues ! — No, sir, 'twas I first enriched their 



166 SHERIDAN. 

Style ! — 'twas I first taught them to crowd their ad- 
vertisements with panegyrical superlatives, each ep- 
ithet rising above the other, like the bidders in their 
own auction rooms ! — From me they learned to inlay 
their phraseology with variegated chips of exotic 
metaphor : by me too their inventive faculties were 
called forth : — yes, sir, by me they were instructed 
to clothe ideal walls with gratuitous fruits — to insin- 
uate obsequious rivulets into visionary groves — to 
teach courteous shrubs to nod their approbation of 
the grateful soil ; or on emergencies to raise upstart 
oaks, where there never had been an acorn ; to cre- 
ate a delightful vicinage without the assistance of a 
neighbourhood ; or fix the temple of Hygeia in the 
fens of Lincolnshire ! 

Dan. I am sure you have done them infinite ser- 
vice ; for now, when a gentleman is ruined, he 
parts with his house with some credit. 

Sneer. Service ! — if they had any gratitude, 'they 
would erect a statue to him ; they would figure him 
as a presiding Mercury ,J,the rgodyof traffic and fic- 
tion, with a hammer in his hand, instead of acadu- 
ceus. But pray, Mr. Puff, what first put you on 
exercising your talents in this way .'' 

Puff. Egad, sir, sheer necessity — the proper parent 
of an art so nearly allied to invention : you must 
know, Mr. Sneer, that from the first^time Iltried my 
hand at an advertisement, my success was such, 
that for some time after I led a most extraordinary 
life indeed ! 

Sneer. How, pray.' 

Puff. Sir, I supported myself two years entirely 
by my misfortunes. 

Sneer. By your misfortunes ? 

Puf. Yes, sir, assisted by long sickness, and otlier 



SHERIDAN. 167 

occasional disorders, and a very comfortable living I 
had of it. 

Sneer. From sickness and misfortunes ! You prac- 
tised as a doctor and an attorney at once ? 

Puff. No, egad : both maladies and miseries were 
my own. 

Sneer. Hey ! what the plague ! 

Dan. 'Tis true, i' faith. 

Puff. Hark'ee ! — By advertisements — '' To the 
charitable and humane !" and " to those whom Pro- 
vidence hath blessed with affluence !" 

Sneer. Oli, I unde'-stand it. 

Pvff. And, in.truth, I deserved what I got; for I 
suppose never man went through such a series of ca- 
lamities in the same space of time. Sir, I was five 
times made a bankrupt, and reduced from a state of 
affluence, by a train of unavoidable misfortunes : 
then, sir, though a very industrious tradesman, I 
was twice burnt out, and lost my little all both times : 
I lived upon those fires a month. I soon after was 
confined by a most excruciating disorder, and lost 
the use of my limbs : that told very well ; for I had 
the case strongly attested, and went about to collect 
the subscriptions myself. 

Dan. Egad, I believe that was v;hen you first 
called on me. 

Pvff. In November last.'' — O, no; I was at that 
time a close prisoner in the Marshalsea, for a debt 
benevolently contracted to serve a friend. — I was af- 
terwards twice tapi^ed for a dropsy, which declined 
into a very profitable consumption. I was then re- 
duced to — O, no — then I became a widow with six 
helpless children, after having had eleven husbands 



168 SHERIDAN. 

pressed, and being left every time eight months gone 
with child, and without money to get me into an 
hospital ! 

Sneer. And you bore all with patience, I make no 
doubt ? 

Puff. Why, yes ; though I made some occasional 
attemps a.ifelo de se; but as I did not find these 
rash actions answer, I left off killing myself very ' 
soon. — Well, sir, — at last, what with bankruptcies, 
fires, gouts, dropsies, imprisonments, and other val- 
uable calamities, having got together a pretty hand- 
some sum, I determined to quit a business which 
had always gone rather against my conscience, and 
in a more liberal way still to indulge my talents for 
fiction and embellishment, through my favourite 
channels of diurnal communication — and so, sir, 
you have my history. 

Sneer. Most obligingly communicative, indeed ; 
and your confession, if published, might certainly 
serve the cause of true charity by rescuing the most 
useful channels of appeal to benevolence from the 
cant of imposition. — But surely Mr. Puff", there is 
no great mystery in your present profession .' 

Puff\ Mystery, sir ! I will take upon me to say 
the matter was never scientifically treated, nor re- 
duced to rule before. 

Sneer. Reduced to rule. 

Pvff. O lud, sir, you are very ignorant, I am 
afraid. — Yes, sir — puffing is of various sorts ; the 
principal are, the puff" direct, the puff" preliminary, 
the puff" collateral, the puff" collusive, and the puff" 
oblique, or puff" by implication. These all assume, 
as circumstances require, the various forms of letter to 



SHERIDAN. 1G9 

the editor, occasional anecdote, nnpartial critique, ob- 
servation from correspondent, or advertisement from 
the party. 

Sneer. The puff direct, I can conceive 

Pvff. O yes, that's simple enough ; for instance, — 
a new comedy or farce is to be produced at one of the 
theatres (though by the by they don't bring out half 
v/hat they ought to do) — the author, suppose Mr. 
Smatter, or Mr. Dapper, or any particular friend of 
mine — very well ; the day before it is to be performed, 
I Vv^rite an account of the manner in which it was re- 
ceived ; I have the plot from the author, and only 
add — characters strongly drawn — hand of a master- 
fund of genuine humour — mine of invention — neat 
dialogue — attic salt. Then for the performance — 
Mr. Dodd was astonishingly great in the character of 
Sir Harry. That universal and judicious actor, Mr. 
Palmer, perhaps never appeared to more advantage 
than in the Colonel ; — but it is not in the power of 
language to do justice to Mr. King : indeed he more 
than merited those repeated bursts of applause which 
he drew from a most brilliant and judicious audience. 
As to the scenery— the miraculous powersof Mr. De 
Loutherbourg's pencil are universally acknowledged. 
In short, we are at a loss which to admire most, the 
unrivalled genius of the author, the great attention 
and liberality of the managers, the wonderful abili- 
ties of the painter, or the incredible exertions of all 
the performers. 

Sneer. That's pretty well indeed, sir. 

Puff. O cool — quite cool — to what I sometimes do. 

Sneer. And do you tliink there are many who are 
influenced by this ^ 

Puff. O lud, yes, sir : the number of tliose who 

I 



170 SHERIDAN. 

undergo the fatigue of judging for themselves isvery 
small indeed. 

Sneer. Well, sir, — the puff preliminary. 
Puff. O that, sir, does well in the form of a cau- 
tion. In a matter of gallantry now — Sir Flimsy 
Gossamer wishes to be well with Lady Fanny Fete. 
He applies to me — I open trenches for him with a 
paragraph in the Morning Post. — It is recommended 
to the beautiful and accomplished lady F. four stars 
F dash E to be on her guard against that dangerous 
character Sir F dash G ; who, however pleasing and 
insinuating his manners may be, is certainly not re- 
markable for the constancy of his attachments! — in 
Italics. Here, you see. Sir Flimsy Gossamer is in- 
troduced to the particular notice of Lady Fanny, who 
perhaps never thought of him before — she finds her- 
self publicly cautioned to avoid him, which naturally 
makes her desirous of seeing him : the observation 
of their acquaintance causes a pretty kind of mutual 
embarrassment ; this produces a sort of sympathy of 
interest, which if Sir Flimsy is unable to improve 
effectually, he atl ast gains the credit of having their 
names mentioned together, by a particular set, and 
in a particular way — which nine times out often is 
the full accomplishment of modern gallantry. 

Dan. Egad, Sneer, you will be quite an adept in 
the business. 

Puff. Now, sir, the puff collateral is much used as 
an appendage to advertisements, and may take the 
form of anecdote. Yesterday, as the celebrated George 
Bon-mot was sauntering down St. James's-street, 
he met the lively Lady Mary Myrtle, coming out of 
the Park : — <• Good God ! Lady Mary, I'm surprised 
to meet you in a white jacket, for I expected never 



SHERIDAN. 171 

to have seen you, but in a full trimmed uniform and 

a light horseman's cap !" " Heavens, George, where 
could you have learned that?" — "Why," replied 
the wit, " I just saw the print of you, in a new pub- 
lication called the Camp Magazine, which, by the by, 
is a devilish clever thing, and is sold, at No. 3, on the 
right hand side of the way, two doors from the print- 
ing-office, the corner of Ivy-lane, Paternoster-row, 
price only one shilling !" 

Sneer. Very ingenious indeed. 

Pitff. But the puff collusive is the newest of any ; 
for it acts in the disguise of determined hostility. It 
is much used by bold booksellers and enterprising 
poets. An indignant correspondent observes, that 
the new poem called Beelzebub's Cotillion, or Pros- 
erpine's Fete Champetre, is one of the most?unjus- 
tifiable performances he ever read. The severity 
with which certain characters are handled is quite 
shocking ; and as there are many descriptions in it 
too warmly coloured for female delicacy, the shameful 
avidity with which this piece is bought by all people 
of fashion is a reproach on the taste of the times, and 
a disgrace to the delicacy of the age. Here you see 
the two strongest inducements are held forth ; first, 
that nobody ought to read it ; and, secondly, that 
every body buys it : on the strength of which the 
pubUsher boldly prints the tenth edition, before he 
has sold ten of the first ; and then establishes it by 
threatening himself with the pillory, or absolutely 
indicting himself for scan. mag. 

Dan. Ha ! ha ! ha ! — gad, I know it is so. 

Puff. As to the puff oblique, or puff by implica- 
tion, it is too various and extensive to be illustrated 



172 SHERIDAN. 

by an instance : it attracts in titles and presumes in 
patents ; it lurks in the limitation of a subscription, 
and invites in the assurance of crowd and incom- 
modation at public places ; .it delights to draw forth 
concealed merit, with a most disinterested assiduity ; 
and sometimes wears a countenance of smiling cen- 
sure and tender reproach. It has a wonderful mem- 
ory for parUamentary debates, and will often give 
the whole speech of a favoured member with the most 
flattering accuracy. But, above all, it is a great 
dealer in reports and suppositions. It has the earliest 
intelligence of intended preferments that will reflect 
honour on the patrons ; and embryo promotions of 
modest gentlemen, who know nothing of the matter 
themselves. It can hint a riband for implied servi- 
ces in the air of a common report ; and with the 
carelessness of a casual paragraph, suggest oflicers in- 
to commands, to which they have no pretension but 
their wishes. This, sir, is the last principal class of 
the art of puffing — an art which I hope you will now 
agree with me is of the highest dignity, yielding a 
tablature of benevolence and public spirit ; befriend- 
ing equally trade, gallantry, criticism and politics : 
the applause of genius — the register of charity — the 
triumph of lieroism — the self-defence of contractors 
— the fame of orators — and the gazette of ministers. 

Sneer. Sir, I am completely a convert both to the 
importance and ingenuity of your profession ; and 
now, sir, there is but one thing which can possibly 
increase my respect for you, and that is, your per- 
mitting me to be present this morning at the rehear- 
sal of your new trage — 

Puff. Hush, for heaven's sake ! — Mt/ tragedy ! — 



SHERIDAN. 173 

Egad, Dangle, I take this very ill : you know how 
apprehensive I am of being known to be the author. 

Dan. V faith I would not have told — but it's in 
the papers, and your name at length in the Morning 
Chronicle, 

Puff. Ah ! those damned editors never can keep a 
secret ! — Well, Mr. Sneer, no doubt you will do me 
great honour — I shall be infinitely happy — highly 
flattered 

Dan. I believe it must be near the time — shall we 
go together ? 

Puff. No ; it will not be yet this hour, for they 
are always late at that theatre : besides, I must meet 
you there, for I have some little matters here to send 
to the papers, and a few paragraphs to scribble be- 
fore I go (loohhig at memorandums.) Here is '' a con- 
scientious Baker on the subject of the Army Bread ;" 
and *' a Detester of visible Brick- work, in favour of 
the new invented Stucco ; both in the style of Jun- 
ius, and promised for to-morrow. The Thames Nav- 
igation too is at a stand. Miso-mud or Anli-shoal 
must go to work again directly. — Here, too, are some 
political memorandums — I see ; ay — To take Paul 
Jones, and get the Indiamen out of the Shannon — 
reinforce Byron — compel the Dutch to — so ! I must 
do that in the evening papers, or reserve it for the 
Morning Herald ; for I know that I have underta- 
ken to-morrow, besides, to establish the unanimity 
of the fleet in the Public Advertiser, and to shoot 
Charles Fox in the Morning Post. — So, egad I han't 
a moment to lose ! 

Dan. Well I — we'll meet in the Green Room. 

[Ezeujit severally 



174 SHERIDAN. 

SPEECH OF ROLLA TO THE PERUVIANS. 
FROM " PIZARRO." ACT II. SCENE II. 

My brave associates — partners of my toil, my feel- 
ings and ray fame ! — can Rolla's words add vigour to 
the virtuous energies which inspire your hearts ? — 
No ! — You have judged as I have, the foulness of the 
crafty plea by which these bold invaders would de- 
lude you. — Your generous spirit has compared, as 
mine has, the motives which, in a war like this, can 
animate their minds and ours. They, by a strange 
frenzy driven, fight for power, for plunder, and ex- 
tended rule ; — we, for our country, our altars, and 
our homes. They follow an adventurer whom they 
fear, and obey a power which they hate : we serve a 
monarch whom we love — a God whom we adore. 
Where'er they move in anger, desolation tracks their 
progress ! Where'er they pause in amity, affliction 
mourns their friendship. They boast they come but 
to improve our state, enlarge our thoughts, and free 
us from the yoke of error ! — yes : — they will give en- 
lightened freedom to our minds, who are themselves 
the slaves of passion, avarice and pride. They offer 
us their protection — Yes, such protection as vultures 
give to lambs — covering and devouring them ! They 
call on us to barter all the good we have inherited 
and proved, for the desperate chance of something 
better which they promise. Be our plain answer 
this : — The throne we honour is the people's choice 
— the laws we reverence are our brave fathers' lega- 
cy — the faith we follow teaches us to live in bonds 
of charity with all mankind, and die with hope of 
bliss beyond the grave. Tell your invaders this, and 



SHERIDAN. 175 

tell them, too, we seek no change ; and, least of all, 
such change as they would bring us. 

SPECIMENS OF ELOQUENCE. 

From the Speech against Mr. Hastings on the Begum 
Charge, in the House of Commons, Feb. 7, 1787. 

" I recollect to have heard it advanced by some of 
those admirers of Mr. Hastings who are not so im- 
plicit as to give unqualified applause to his crimes, 
that they find an apology for the atrocity of them in 
the greatness of his mind. To estimate the solidity 
of such a defence, it will be sufficient merely to con- 
sider in what consists this prepossessing distinction, 
this captivating characteristic of greatness of mind. 
Is it not solely to be traced in great actions directed 
to great ends .'' In them, and them alone, we are to 
search for true estimable magnanimity. To them 
only can we justly affix the splendid title and hon- 
ours of real greatness. There is, indeed another spe- 
cies of greatness, which displays itself in boldly con- 
ceiving a bad measure, and undauntedly pursuing 
it to its accomplishment. But has Mr, Hastings the 
merit of exhibiting either of these descriptions of 
greatness — even of the latter .'' I see nothing great — 
nothing magnanimous — nothing open — nothing di- 
rect — in his measures or in his mind. On the con- 
trary, he has too often pursued the worst objects by 
the worst means. His course has been an eternal 
deviation from rectitude. He has either tyrannized 
or deceived ; and has by turns been a Dionysius and 
a Scapin. As well may the writhing obliquity of 
the serpent be compared to the swift directness of the 
arrow, as the duplicity of Mr. Hastings's ambition 



176 



SHERIDAN. 



to the simple steadiness of genuine magnanimity. 
In his mind all is shuffling, ambiguous, dark, insid- 
ious, and little. Nothing simple, nothing unmixed : 
all affected plainness and actual dissimulation ; a 
heterogeneous mass of contradictory qualities; with 
nothing great but his crimes, and even these con- 
trasted by the littleness of his motives, vv^hich at once 
denote both his baseness and his meanness, and mark 
him for a traitor and a trickster. Nay, in his style 
and writing there is the same mixture of vicious con- 
trarieties : the most groveling ideas are conveyed in 
the most inflated language ; giving mock conse- 
quence to low cavils and urging quibbles in heroics ; 
so that his compositions disgust the mind's taste as 
much as his actions excite the soul's abhorrence. 
Indeed, this mixture of character seems, by some un- 
accountable but inherent quality, to be appropriated, 
though in inferior degrees, to every thing that con- 
cerns his employers. I remember to have heard an 
honourable and learned gentleman (Mr. Dundas) 
remark, that there is something in the first frame 
and constitution of the Company, which extends the 
sordid principles of their origin over all their suc- 
cessive operations ; connecting with their civil pol- 
ic}-^, and even with their boldest achievements, the 
meanness of a pedler, and the profligacy of a pirate. 
Alike in the political and the military line may be 
observed auctioneering ambassadors and trading gener- 
als — and thus we see a revolution brought about by 
affidavits; an army employed in executing an arrest ; a 
town besieged on a note of hand; a prince dethroned 
for the balance of an account. ' Thus it is, that they 
exhibit a government which unites the mock majes- 
ty of a bloody sceptre and the little traffic of a mer- 



SHERIDAN. 177 

chanCs counting-house, wielding a truncheon with 
one hand, and jjicJcing a pocket zcitk the other. '^ 

From the Speech against Mr. Hastings on the Begum 
Charge, in Westminster Hall, June 3, 1788. 
" Major Scott conies to your bar — describes the 
shortness of time — represents Mr. Hastings, as it 
were, contracting for a character — putting his mem- 
ory into commission — making departments for his con- 
science. A number of friends meet together, and 
he, knowing (no doubt) that the accusation of the 
Commons had been drawn up by a Committee, 
thought it necessary, as a point of punctiHo, to ans- 
wer it by a Committee also. One furnishes the raw 
material of fact, the second spins the argument, and 
the third twines up the conclusion, while Mr. Has- 
tings, with a master's eye, is cheering, and looking 
over the loom. He says to one, ' You have got my 
good faith in my hands — you my veracity to manage. 
Mr. Shore, I hope you will make me a good financier. 
Mr. Middleton, you have my humanity in commis- 
sion.' — When it is done, he brings it to the House 
of Commons, and says, ^ I am equal to the task. I 
knew the difficulties, but I scorn them. Here is the 
truth, and if the truth will convict me, I am content 
myself to be the channel of it.' His friends hold 
up their heads, and say,' What noble magnanimity ! 
This must be the effect of conscious and real inno- 
cence.' Well, it is so received, it is so argued up- 
on, — but it fails of its effect. 

*' Then says Mr. Hastings, — ' That my defence ! 
no, mere journeyman-work, — good enough for the 
Commons, but not fit for your lordships' considera- 
tion.' He then calls upon his own counsel to save 

I 2 



178 SHERIDAN. 

him : — ' I fear none of my accuser's witnesses — I 
know some of them well — I know the weakness of 
their memory and the strength of their attachment — 
I fear no testimony but my own — save me from the 
peril of my own panegyric — preserve me from that, 
and I shall be safe.' Then is the plea brought to 
your lordships' bar, and Major Scott gravely asserts 
— that Mr. Hastings did, at the bar of the House of 
Commons, vouch for facts of which he was igno- 
rant, and for arguments which he had never read. 

" After such an attempt, we certainly are left in 
doubt to decide to ivhich set of his friends Mr. Has- 
tings is the least obliged, those who assisted him 
in making his defence, or those wh'o advised him to 

deny it." 

***** 

'' State-necessity ! no, my lords ; that imperial ty- 
rant, State-necessity, is yet a generous despot, — bold 
is his demeanour, rapid his decision, and terrible his 
grasp. But what he does, my lords, he dares avow, 
and, avowing, scorns any other justification than the 
great motives that placed the iron sceptre in his 
hand. But a quibbling, pilfering, prevaricating 
State-necessity, that tries to skulk behind the skirts 
of Justice ; — a State-necessity that tries to steal a 
pitiful justification from whispered accusations and 
fabricated rumours — no, my lords, that is no State- 
necessity : — tear off the mask, and you see coarse, 
vulgar avarice ; you see peculation lurking under 
the gaudy disguise, and adding the guilt of libelling 
the public honour to his own private fraud." 

" If we could suppose a person to have come sud- 
denly into the country, unacquainted with any cir- 



SHERIDAN. 



179 



cumstances that had passed since the days of Sujah 
ul Dowlah, he would naturally ask — what rruel hand 
has wrought this wide desolation, what barbarian foe 
has invaded the country, has desolated its fields, de- 
populated its villages ? He would ask what dispu- 
ted succession, civil rage, or frenzy of the inhabi- 
tants, had induced them to act in hostility to the 
words of God and the beauteous works of man ? 
He would ask what religious zeal or frenzy had ad- 
ded to the mad despair and horrors of war ? The ' 
ruin is unlike any thing that appears recorded in any 
age: it looks like neither the barbarities of men, 
nor the judgments of vindictive heaven. There is a 
waste of desolation, as if caused by fell destroyers, 
never meaning to return, and making but a short 
period of their rapacity. It looks as if some fabled 
monster had made its passage through the country, 
whose pestiferous breath had blasted more than its 
voracious appetite could devour. 

''If there had been any men in the country, who 
had not their hearts and souls so subdued by fear as 
to refuse to speak at all upon such a subject, they 
would have told him there had been no war since 
the time of Sujah ul Dowlah — tyrant, indeed, as he 
was, but then deeply regretted by his subjects — that 
no hostile blow of any enemy had been struck in that 
land — that there had been no disputed succession — 
no civil war — no religious frenzy. But that these 
were the tokens of British friendship, the marks left 
by the embraces of British allies — more dreadful than 
the blows of the bitterest enemy. They would tell 
him that these allies had converted a prince into a 
slave, to make him the principal in the extortion 
upon his subjects ; that their rapacity increased in 



180 



SHERIDAN. 



proportion as the means of supplying their avarice 
diminished ; that they made the sovereign pay as if 
they had a right to an increased price, because the 
labour of extortion and plunder increased. To such 
causes, they would tell him, these calamities were 
owing. 

" Need I refer your lordships to the strong testi- 
mony of Major Naylor, when he rescued Colonel 
Hannay from their hands — where you see that this 
people, born to submission, and bent to most abject 
subjection — that even they, in whose meek hearts 
injury had never yet begot resentment, nor even 
despair bred courage — that their hatred, their abhor- 
rence of Colonel Hannay was such, that they clung 
round him by thousands and thousands ; that when 
Major Naylor rescued him, they refused life from 
the hand that could rescue Hannay ; that they nour- 
ished this desperate consolation, that by their death 
they should at least thin the number of wretches who 
suffered by his devastation and extortion. He says 
that, when he crossed the river, he found the poor 
wretches quivering upon the parched banks of the 
polluted stream, encouraging their blood to flow, and 
consoling themselves with the thought, that it would 
not sink into the earth, but rise to the common God 
of humanity, and cry aloud for vengeance on their 
destroyers ! This warm description, which is no dec- 
lamation of mine, but founded in actual fact, and in 
fair, clear proof before your lordships, speaks power- 
fully what the cause of these oppressions were, and 
the perfect justice of those feehngs that were occa- 
sioned by them. And yet, my lords, I am asked to 
prove why these people arose in such concert : — 
' there must have been machinations,' forsooth^ and 



SHERIDAN. 



181 



the Begums' machinations, to produce all this ! 
Why did they rise ! Because they were people in 
human shape; because patience under the detested 
tyranny of man is rebellion to the sovereignty of 
God ; because allegiance to that Power that gives us 
the forms of men, commands us to maintain the 
Hghts of men. And never yet was this truth dis- 
missed from the human heart — never in any time, 
in any age — never in any clime, where rude man 
ever had any social feeling, or where corrupt refine- 
ment had subdued all feelings — never was this one 
unextinguishable truth destroyed from the heart of 
man, placed, as it is, in the very core and centre of it 
by his Maker, that man was not made the property of 
man ; that human power is a trust for human bene- 
fit ; and that when it is abused, revenge becomes jus- 
tice, if not the bounden duty of the injured. These, 
my lords, were the causes why these people rose !" 
***** 
" I am perfectly convinced that there is one idea, 
which must arise in your lordships' mind as a subject 
of wonder — how a person of Mr. Hastings' reputed 
abilities can furnish such matter of accusation against 
himself For it must be admitted that never was 
there a person who seems to go so rashly to work, 
with such an arrogant appearance of contempt for 
all conclusions that may be deduced from what he 
advances upon the subject. When he seems most 
earnest and laborious to defend himself, it appears as 
if he had but one idea uppermost in his mind — a de- 
termination not to care what he says, provided he 
keeps clear of fact. He knows that truth must con- 
vict him, and concludes, a converso, that falsehood 
will acquit him ; forgetting that there must be some 



182 SHERIDAN. 

connexion, some system, some co-operation, or, oth- 
erwise, his host of falsities fall without an enemy, 
self-discomfited and destroyed. But of this he nev- 
er seems to have had the slightest apprehension. He 
falls to work, an artificer of fraud, against all the 
rules of architecture ; he lays his ornamental work 
first, and his massy foundation on the top of it, and 
thus his whole building tumbles upon his head. 
Other people look well to their ground, choose their 
position, and watch whether they are hkely to be 
surprised there ; but he, as if in the ostentation of 
his heart, builds upon a precipice, and encamps up- 
on a mine, from choice. He seems to have no one 
actuating principle, but a steady, persevering reso- 
lution not to speak the truth or to tell the fact. 

" It is impossible almost to treat conduct of this 
kind with perfect seriousness ; yet I am aware that it 
ought to be more seriously accounted for — because 
I am sure it has been a sort of paradox, which must 
have struck your lordships, how any person having 
so many motives to conceal — having so many reasons 
to dread deception — should yet go to work so clum- 
sily upon the subject. It is possible, indeed, that it 
may raise this doubt — whether such a person is of 
sound mind enough to be a proper object of punish- 
ment ; or at least it may give a kind of confused no- 
tion, that the guilt cannot be of so deep and black a 
grain, over which such a thin veil was thrown, and 
so little trouble taken to avoid detection. I am aware 
that, to account for this seeming paradox, historians, 
poets, and even philosophers — at least of ancient times 
— have adopted the superstitious solution of the vul- 
gar, and said that the gods deprive men of reason 
whom they devote to destruction or to punishment. 



SHERIDAN. 183 

But to unassuming or unprejudiced reason, there is 
no need to resort to any supposed supernatural in- 
terference ; for the solution will be found in the eter- 
nal rules that formed the mind of man, and gave a 
quality and nature to every passion that inhabits in it. 
'' An honourable friend of mine, (Mr. Burke,) who 
is now, I believe, near me, — a gentleman, to whom 
I never can on any occasion refer without feelings 
of respect, and, on this subject, without feelings of 
the most grateful homage ; a gentleman, whose abil- 
ities upon this occasion, as upon some former ones, 
happily for the glory of the age in which we live, 
are not intrusted merely to the perishable eloquence 
of the day, but will live to be the admiration of that 
hour when all of us are mute, and most of us for- 
gotten ; — that honourable gentleman, has told you, 
that Prudence, the first of virtues, never can be used 
in the cause of vice. If, reluctant and diffident, I 
might take such a liberty, I should express a doubt, 
whether experience, observation, or history, will 
warrant us in fully assenting to this observation. It 
is a noble and a lovely sentiment, my lords, worthy 
the mind of him who uttered it ; worthy that proud 
disdain, that generous scorn, of the means and in- 
struments of vice, which virtue and genius must ev- 
er feel. But I should doubt whether we can read the 
history of a Philip of Macedon, a Caesar, or a Crom- 
well, without confessing, that there have been evil 
purposes, baneful to the peace and to the rights of 
men, conducted — if I may not say, with prudence or 
with wisdom — yet with awful craft and mostsucces- 
ful and commanding subtlety. If, however, I might 
make a distinction, I should say that it is the proud 
attempt to mix a variety of lordly crimes that unset- 
tles the prudence of the mind, and breeds this dis- 



184 SHERIDAN. 

traction of the brain. One master-passion, domineer- 
ing in the breast, may win the faculties of the under- 
standing to advance its purpose, and to direct to that 
object every thing that thought or human knowledge 
can effect; but, to succeed, it must maintain a soli- 
tary despotism in the mind — each rival profligacy 
must stand aloof, or wait in abject vassalage upon 
its throne. For the Power, that has not forbade the 
entrance of evil passions into man's mind, has at least 
forbade their union ; — if they meet, they defeat their 
object, and their conquest, or their attempt at it, is 
tumult. Turn to the Virtues — how different the de- 
cree! Formed to connect, to blend, to associate, and 
to co-operate ; bearing the same course, with kindred 
energies and harmonious sympathy, each perfect in 
'its own lovely sphere, each moving in its wider or 
more contracted orbit, with different, but concenter- 
ing powers, guided by the same influence of reason, 
and endeavouring at die same blessed end — the happi- 
ness of the individual, the harmony of the species, and 
the glory of the Creator. In the Vices, on the other 
hand, it is the discord that ensures the defeat — each 
clamours to be heard in its own barbarous language ; 
each claims the exclusive cunning of the brain; 
each thwarts and reproaches the other ; and even 
while their fell rage assails with common hate the 
peace and virtue of the world, the civil war among 
their own tumultuous legions defeat the purposeof the 
foul conspiracy. These are the furies of the mind, my 
lords, that unsettle the understanding ; these are the 
Furies that destroy the virtue Prudence,while the dis- 
tracted brain and shivered intellect proclaim the tu- 
mult that is within, and bear their testimonies, from 
the mouth of God himself, to the foul condition of 
the heart." * * * * 



SHERIDAN, 



185 



'' When I see in many of these letters the infirmi- 
ties of age made a subject of mockery and ridicule ; 
when I see the feelings of a son treated by Mr. Mid- 
dleton as puerile and contemptible ; when I see an 
order given from Mr. Hastings to harden that son's 
heart, to choke the struggling nature in his bosom ; 
when I see them pointing to the son's name and to 
his standard, while marching to oppress the mother, 
as to a banner that gives dignity, that gives a holy 
sanction and a reverence to their enterprise ; when 1 
see and hear these things done — when I hear them 
brought into three deliberate defences set up against 
the charges of the Commons — my lords, I own I grow 
puzzled and confounded, and almost begin to doubt 
whether, where such a defence can be offered, it may 
not be tolerated. 

'' And yet, my lords, how can I support the claim 
of filial love by argument — much less the affection of 
a son to a mother — where love looses its awe, and ven- 
eration is mixed with tenderness? What can I say 
upon such a subject ^ What can I do but repeat the 
ready truths which, with the quick impulse of the 
mind, must spring to the lips of every man on such a 
theme ? Filial Love ! the morality of instinct, the 
sacrament of nature and duty — or rather let me say, 
it is miscalled a duty, for it flows from the heart with- 
out effort, and is its delight, its indulgence, its en- 
joyment. It is guided, not by the slow dictates of rea- 
son : it awaits not encouragement from reflection or 
from thought; it asks no aid of memory; it is an 
innate, but active, consciousness of having been the 
object of a thousand tender sohcitudes, a thousand 
waking watchful cares, of meek anxiety and patient 
sacrifices, unremarked and unrequited by the object. 



186 SHERIDAN. 

It is a gratitude founded upon a conviction of obliga- 
tions not remembered, — because conferred before the 
tender reason could acknowledge, or the infant mem- 
ory record them — a gratitude and affection, which no 
circumstances should subdue, and which few can 
strengthen ; a gratitude, in which even injury from 
the object, though it may blunt regret, should never 
breed resentment; an affection which can be increas- 
ed only by the decay of those to whom we owe it, 
and which is then most fervent when the tremulous 
voice of age, resistless in its feebleness, inquires for 
the natural protector of its cold decline. 

" If these are the general sentiments of man, what 
must be their depravity, what must be their degene- 
racy, who can blot out and erase from the bosom the 
virtue that is deepest rooted in the human heart, and 
twined within the cords of life itself — aliens from na- 
ture, apostates from humanity ! And yet, if there is 
a crime more fell, more foul — if there is any thing 
worse than a wilful persecutor of his mother — it is to 
see a deliberate, reasoning instigator and abettor to 
the deed : — this it is that shocks, disgusts, and appals 
the mind more than the other — to view, not a wilful 
parricide, but a parricide by compulsion, a miserable 
wretch, not actuated by the stubborn evils of his own 
worthless heart, not driven by the fury of his own 
distracted brain, but leading his sacrilegious hand, 
without any malice of his own, to answer the aban- 
doned purposes of the human fiends that have subdued 
his will ! To condemn crimes like these, we need not 
talk of laws or of human rules; their foulness, their 
deformity, does not depend upon local constitutions, 
upon human institutes, or religious creeds : they are 
crimes ; and the persons who perpetrate them ,af e 



SHERIDAN. 187 

monsters, who violate the primitive condition upon 
which the earth was given to man ; — they are guilty 
by the general verdict of human kind." 

" And now, before I come to the last magnificent 
paragraph*, let me call the attention of those who, 
possibly, think themselves capable of judging of the 
dignity and character of justice in this country ; let 
me call the attention of those who, arrogantly perhaps, 
presume that they understand what the features, what 
the duties of justice are, here and in India ; let thera 
learn alesson from this great statesman, this enlarged, 
this liberal philosopher : — ' I hope I shall not depart 
from the simplicity of official language in saying, that 
the Majesty of Justice ought to be approached with 
solicitations, not descend to provoke or invite it,much 
less to debase itself by the suggestion of wrongs, and 
the promise of redress, with the denunciation of 
punishment before trial, and even before accusation.' 
This is the exhortation which Mr. Hastings makes to 
his counsel ! This is the character which he gives of 
British justice !" 

" But I will ask your lordships, do you approve 
this representation ? Do you feel that this is the true 
image of justice ? Is this the character of British 
justice .'' Are these her features .'' Is this her coun- 
tenance ? Is this her gait or her mien ? No ; I think 
even now I hear you calling on me to turn from this 
vile libel, this base caricature, this Indian pagod, 

* Of a letter written by Mr. Hastings, which con- 
tains the sentence subsequently quoted by Mr. 
Sheridan. 



188 SHERIDAN. 

formed by the hand of guilty and knavish tyranny, to 
dupe the heart of ignorance, — to turn from tliis de- 
formed idol to the true majesty of justice here. Here, 
indeed, I see a different form, enthroned by the sove- 
reign hand of Freedom, — awful without severity — 
commanding without pride — vigilant and active 
without restlessness or suspicion — searching and in- 
quisitive without meanness or debasement — not ar- 
rogantly scorning to stoop to the voice of afflicted 
innocence, and in its loveliest attitude when bend- 
ing to uplift the suppliant at its feet. 

" It is by the majesty, by the form of that justice, 
that I do conjure and implore your lordships to give 
your minds to this great business ; that I exhort you 
to look, not so much to words, which may be denied 
or quibbled away, but to the plain facts ; v/eigh and 
consider the testimony in your own minds : we know 
the result must be inevitable. Let the truth appear, 
and our cause is gained. It is this, I conjure your 
lordships, for your own honour, for the honour of the 
nation, for the honour of human nature, now intrust- 
ed to your care, — it is this duty that the Commons of 
England, speaking through us, claim at your hands. 

" They exhort you to it by every thing that calls 
sublimely upon the heart of man, by the majesty of 
that justice Avhich this bold man has libelled, by the 
wide fame of your own tribunal, by the sacred pledge 
by which you swear in the solemn hour of decision, 
knowing that that decision will then bring you the 
highest reward that ever blessed the heart of man — the 
consciousness of having done the greatest act of mer- 
cy for the world, that the earth has ever yet received 
from any hand but Heaven. — My lords, I have done." 



SHERIDAK. 189 

From the Debate on the State of public Income and 
Expenditure, Feb. 17, 1792. 

" The House will now see, that though the ungra- 
cious task was imposed on them to lay on these taxes, 
their constituents were not to look to them for relief.* 
A new feeling of hope is to be inspired into the people, 
a new feeling of gratitude is to be planted in their 
bosoms — they are to be taught to petition for relief 
from taxes. This is a very delicate subject for gen- 
tlemen to speak on — it lays an embargo on the House. 
No man can put himself into the ungracious state of 
opposing the repeal of afflicting taxes. Who can deny 
to the poor family the boon of getting their candles a 
halfpenny cheaper.'' Should a severe sense of duty 
urge any gentleman to look the true situation of the 
country in the face, and'to oppose this artful and in- 
sidious way of attacking the privileges of the Com- 
mons house of parliament, I well know how easily a 
cry may be raised against him, and with what facility 
he may be made the victim of a little well managed 
misrepresentation. I remember a line or two of some 
verses made upon my honourable friend, by one of his 
constituents, which has never failed to produce a 
torrent of applause ; not from the elegance of the poet- 
ry, so much as from the sturdy ad captandum praise 
which it gives him. My friend, who, with all his 
merits, has certainly no pretension to this praise, 
will pardon me for repeating it : 

' Whenever a tax in the house was projected, 
Great Fox he rose up and always objected.' 

* Mr. Pitt had proposed the repeal of some taxes. 



190 SHERIDAN. 

Now this, which is certainly untrue, may be turned 
very neatly to the detriment of those who may think 
it their duty to inquire before they act — to ascertain 
whether we really have a surplus, before we give up 
our income ; and at any rate the grace ought to come 
constitutionally from that branch of the legislature 
which has the power of the purse, and which has 
been so unmercifully called upon, by the same right 
honourable gentleman, to draw the strings. "Why has 
he not waited, and given to the house the grace of 
originating the measure ? The truth is, it has craf- 
tily been considered as the best answer to all the im- 
putations against him for the Russian and Spanish 
armaments ; so at least other men, who have less 
candour and respect for him than I possess, might in- 
sinuate. They might draw strange conclusions from 
the circumstances ; and the nation might be brought 
to think that blunders are more advantageous to them 
than wisdom — that when he is convicted of error, he 
is distributing to them relief. A session without a 
blunder would be a session of calamity; but an arma- 
ment would be desirable. ' I have,' he might say, 
'involved you in a quarrel with Spain — here, there's 
a tax upon malt for you. I have made the English 
name ridiculous all over the world, by bullying R,us- 
sia — here, take back the female servants, I have no 
use for them. — I have involved you in a war with 
Tippoo Saib — take your candles a halfpenny cheaper 
in the pound.' Thus they are to be taught to love 
misfortune — to be ennmoured of misconduct — and if 
an administration should succeed him, under which 
wisdom and prudence should produce their usual ef- 
fects of security and quiet, the right honourable gen- 
tleman would be at the head of the most violent and 



SHERIDAN. 191 

clamorous opposition that this country ever witnes- 
sed. They would call out importunately for a change. 
— ' Give us back that bustling and dangerous ad- 
ministration, that went on arming and unarming ; 
taxing and untaxing ; who committed so many blun- 
ders that they were for ever making atonement ; who 
broke our heads that they might give us a plaster. 
We abhor this uniform system of order and quiet.' " 

From the Debate on the Address on the King's Speech, 
January 21, 1794. 

" The noble lord (Lord Mornington) not content 
with the unfairness of overlooking all the circumstan- 
ces which imperious necessity must inevitably im- 
pose upon a country circumstanced as France is, 
thinks it fair and candid to contrast the proceedings 
of their convention on the subject of supply and 
finance, with the proceedings of the British minister 
and of the British Parliament .-' We, it seems, assist 
commerce instead of oppressing it. We lend the cred- 
it of the public exchequer to our private merchants : 
and for the means of carrying on the war, not even 
voluntary contributions are expected, unless it be in 
little female keep-sakes for the army, of gloves, mit- 
tens, nightcaps, and under waistcoats. Certainly the 
contrast between the French means of supply and 
ours is obvious, and long may it continue so ! But 
the noble lord pursues his triumph on this subject 
too far ; not content with simply alluding to it, which 
one would have imagined would have answered all his 
purposes, he endeavours to impre ss it more forcibly on 
our minds, by making a regular speech for our chan- 
cellor of the exchequer, and exultingly demanding 
what we should say, if his right honourable friend 



192 SHERIDAN. 

(Mr. Pitt,) were to come down and propose to the 
British Parliament such ways and means as the min- 
ister of finance in France is compelled to resort to.' 
What should we think if he were to rise and propose, 
that all persons who had money or property in an un- 
productive state should lend it without interest to the 
public ? If he were to propose, that all who had saved 
incomes from the bounty of the state should refund 
what they had received ^ What, finally, if all persons 
possessing fortunes of any size were called upon to 
give up the whole during the war, or reserve to them- 
selves only the means of subsistence, or at the utmost 
one hundred and eighty pounds a year ? Upon my 
word, sir, I agree with the noble lord, that if his right 
honourable friend were to come down to us with any 
such proposition, he would not long retain his present 
situation. And with such a consequence inevitable, 
he need not remind us, that there is no great danger 
of our chancellor of the exchequer making any such 
experiment, any more than of the n)ost zealous sup- 
l^orters of the war in this country, vieing in their 
contributions with the abettors of republicanism in 
that. I can more easily fancy another sort of speech 
for our prudent minister. 1 can more easily conceive 
him modestly comparing himself and his own meas- 
ures with the character and conduct of his rival, and 
saying — ' Do I demand of you, wealthy citizens, to 
lend your hoards to government without interest .'' 
On the contrary, when I shall come to propose a 
loan, not a man of you to whom I shall not hold out 
at least a job in every part of the subscription, and a 
usurious profit upon every pound you devote to the 
necessities of your country. Do I demand of you, 
my fellow placemen and brotlier pensioners, that you 



SHERIDAN. 193 

should sacrifice any part of your stipends to the 
public exigency ; on the contrary, am I not daily 
increasing your emoluments and your numbers in 
proportion as the country becomes unable to provide 
for you ? — Do I require of you, my latest and most 
zealous proselytes, of you who have come over to 
me for the special purpose of supporting the war — a 
war on the success of which you solemnly protest 
that the salvation of Britain, and of civil society it- 
self, depend — do I require of you, that you should 
make a temporary sacrifice in the cause of human 
nature of the greater part of your private incomes? 
No, gentlemen, I scorn to take advantage of the 
eagerness of your zeal; and to prove that I think the 
sincerity of your Zealand attachment needs no such 
test, I will make your interest co-operate with your 
principle ; I will quarter many of you on the public 
supply, instead of calling on you to contribute to it ; 
and while their whole thoughts are absorbed in pat- 
riotic apprehensions for their country, I will dexter- 
ously force upon others the favourite objects of the 
vanity or ambition of their lives." 

" Sir, I perceive that the house feel that T have 
made a speech more in character for the right hon- 
ourable gentleman, than the noble lord did; that 1 
have supposed him simply to describe what he has 
been actually doing ; but I am much mistaken if 
they do not at the same time think it rather indis- 
creet in the noble lord to have reminded us of such 
circumstances. Good God, sir, that he should have 
thought it prudent to have forced this contrast upon 
our attention ; that he should triumphantly remind 
us of every thing that shame should have withheld, 
and caution would have buried in oblivion! Will those 

K 



194 SHERIDAN. 

who stood forth with a parade of disinterested patri- 
otism, and vaunted of the sacrifices they hvid made, 
and the exposed situations they had chosen, in order 
the better to oppose the friends of Brissot in England 
— will they thank the noble lord for reminding us 
how soon these lofty professions dwindled into little 
jobbing pursuits for followers and dependants, as unfit 
to fill the ofiices procured for them, as the offices them- 
selves were unfit to be created? Will the train of new- 
ly-titled alarmists, of supernumerary negotiators, of 
pensioned paymasters, agents, and commissioners, 
thank him for remarking to us how profitable their 
panic has been to themselves, and how expensive to 
their country? What acontrast, indeed, do we exhibit! 
What ! in such an hour as this, at a moment pregnant 
with the national fate, when, pressing as the exigen- 
cy may be, the hard task of squeezing the money from 
the pockets of an impoverished people, from the toil, 
the drudgery of the shivering poor, must make the 
most practised collector's heart ache while he tears it 
from them ; can it be, that people of high rank, and 
professing high principles, that they or their families 
should seek to thrive on the spoils of misery, and 
fatten on the meals wrested from industrious poverty? 
Can it be, that this should be the case with the ver}' 
persons who state the vnpreccdcnted peril of the coun- 
trrj as the sole cause of their being found in the min- 
isterial ranks ? The constitution is in danger, relig- 
ion is in danger, the very existence of the nation itself 
is endangered ; all personal and party considerations 
ought to vanish ; the war must be supported by every 
possible exertion, and by every possible sacrifice ; the 
people must not murmur at their burthens, it is for 
their salvation, their all is at stake. The time is 



SHERIDAN. 195 

come when all honest and disinterested men should 
rally round the throne as a standard ; — for what, ye 
honest and disinterested men ? to receive for your 
own private emolument a portion of those very taxes 
which you yourselves wring from the people, on the 
pretence of saving them from the poverty and distress 
whichyousay the enemy would inflict, but which you 
take care that no enemy shall be able to aggravate. 
Oh! shame ! shame ! is this a time for selfish intrigues, 
and the little dirty traffic for lucre and emolument ? 
Does it suit the honour of a gentleman to ask at such 
amoment? Does it become the honesty of a minister 
to grant ? Is it intended to confirm the pernicious doc- 
trine, so industriously propagated by many, that all 
public men are impostors, and that every politician 
has his price.'' Or even where there is no principle in 
the bosom, why does not prudence hint to the mer- 
cenary and the vain, to abstain a while at least, and 
wait the fitting of the times.'' Improvident impatience ! 
No.y, even from those who seem to have no directob- 
ject of office or profit, what is the language which 
their actions speak .' The throne is in danger ! we will 
support the throne ; but let us share the smiles of 
royalty — the order of nobility is in danger ! I will 
fight for nobility , says the viscount, but my zeal would 
be much greater if I were made an earl. Rouse all 
the marquis within me ! exclaims the earl, and the 
peerage never turned forth a more undaunted cham- 
pion in its cause than I shall prove. Stain my green 
riband blue, cries out the illustrious knight, and the 
fountain of honour will have a fast and faithful ser- 
vant ! — What are the people to think of our sincerity.' 
— What credit are they to give to our professions ? — 
Is this system to be persevered in ? — Is there noth- 



196 SHERIDAN. 

ing that whispers to that right honourable gentle- 
man that the crisis is too big, that the times are too 
gigantic, to be ruled by the little hackneyed and 
every-day means of ordinary corruption ? — or are 
we to believe, that he has within himself a conscious 
feeling that disquahfies him from rebuking the ill- 
timed selfishness of his new allies ?" 

From the Debate on the Repealing the Bill for sus- 
pending the Habeas Corpus Act, Jan. 5, 1795. 

" I can suppose the case of a haughty and stiff- 
necked minister, who never mixed in a popular as- 
sembly, who has therefore no common feeling with 
the mass of the people, no knowledge of the mode 
in which their intercourse is conducted, who had not 
been a month in the ranks in this house before he was 
raised to the first situation, and, though on a footing 
with any other member, elevated with the idea of fan- 
cied superiority; such a minister can have no commu- 
nication with the people of England, except through 
the medium of spies and informers ; he is unacquain- 
ted with the mode in which their sentiments are ex- 
pressed, and cannot make allowance for the lan- 
guage of toasts and resolutions, adopted in an un- 
guarded and convivial hour. Such a mini iter, if he 
lose their confidence, he will bribe their hate ; if he 
disgust them by arbitrary measures, he will not 
leave them till they are completely bound and 
shackled; above all, he will gratify the vindictive 
resentment of apostacy, by prosecuting all those 
who dare to espouse the cause which he has betray- 
ed : and he will not desist from the gratification of 
his malignant propensities, and the prosecution of 
his arbitrary schemes, till he has buried in one 
grave the peace, the happiness, the glory, the in- 



SHERIDAN. 197 

dependence, of England. Such a minister must be 
disqualified to judge of the real state of the country, 
and must be eternally the dupe of those spies, whose 
interest it is to deceive him as well as betray others. 
In what country, or from what quarter of the com- 
munity, are we to apprehend the effects of those 
principles of insubordination, with which we have 
been so often threatened ? The characteristic fea- 
ture of the English nation is entirely different; they 
testify on every occasion the utmost respect for supe- 
riority (I am sorry to use the phrase) wherever the ad- 
vantages of ranker fortune are exercised by those who 
enjoy them with any tolerable decency or regard to 
the welfare of their dependents. What nobleman or 
gentleman finds in his tenants or servants, as long as 
he treats them with propriety and kindness, a hostile 
and envious disposition ? What merchant or great 
manufacturer finds in those whom he employs, so long 
as he treats them well, a sullen and uncomplying tem- 
per, instead of a prompt and cheerful obedience .'' 
This tendency to insubordination forms no part of 
the temper or character of the people ; the contrary 
disposition is even carried to an extreme. If I am 
asked, whether there is any danger in the present 
moment, I say yes. But it is not a danger of that sort 
which is to be remedied by suspending the rights, or 
abridging the privileges of the people. The danger ari- 
ses from a contempt being produced, among the lower 
orders, of all public men and all public principles." 
***** 
" I will not admit the inference or the argument, 
that, because a people, bred under a proud, insolent, 
and grinding despotism, maddened by the recollection 
of former injuries, and made savage by the observa- 



198 SHERIDAN. 

tion of former cruelties ; a people, in whose minds no 
sincere respect for property or law ever could have 
existed, because property had never been secured to 
them, and law had never protected them ; a people 
separated and divided into classes by the strongest and 
harshest lines of distinction, generating envy and 
smothered malice in the lower ranks, and pride and 
insolence in the higher : — that the actions of such a 
people at any time, much less in the hour of frenzy 
and of fury, provoked and goaded by the arms and 
menaces of the surrounding despots that assailed 
them, should furnish an inference or ground on which 
to estimate the temper, character, or feelings, of the 
people of Great Britain ; of a people who, though 
sensible of many abuses, which disfigure the consti- 
tution, are yet not insensible to its many and invalua- 
ble blessings ; a people who reverence the laws of 
their country, because those laws protect and shield 
all alike : a people, among whom all that is advan- 
tageous in private acquisition, all that is honourable 
in public ambition, is equally open to the efforts, the 
industry, and the abilities of all ; among whom pro- 
gress and rise in society and public estimation is one 
ascending slope, as it were, without a break or land- 
ing place ; among whom no sullen line of demarca- 
tion separates and cuts off the several orders from 
each other, but all is one blended tint, from the deep- 
est shade that veils the meanest occupation of labo- 
rious industry, to the brightest hue that glitters in 
the luxurious pageantry of title, wealth, and power. 
I, therefore, will not look to the example of France; 
for, between the feelings, the tempers, and the social 
disposition towards each other, much less towards 
the governments which they obey, of nations so dif- 



SHERIDAN. 199 

ferently constituted, and of such different habits, I 
will assert that no comparison can be made which 
reason and philosophy ought not to spurn at with 
contempt and indigvnation." 

From the Debate on the Dog Tax Bill, April 25, 
179G. 

*• In regard to tlie bill itself, I have never met with 
one worded in a more extraordinary manner, and the 
folly of it extends even to tbe title ; for, whereas the 
title ought to be 'A Tax Bill,' it is entitled ' A bill 
for the better protection of the persons and property 
of his Majesty's subjects, arising from the increase of 
dogs, by subjecting the keeping or having such dogs 
to a duty.' Hence, instead of supposing, as it gene- 
rally has been supposed, that dogs are better than 
watchmenforthe protection of property, people might 
be led to imagine that dogs are guilty of all the bur- 
glaries usually committed. In the preamble, also, 
there is the same species of phraseology : for it be- 
gins — ' Whereas many dangers, accidents, and incon- 
veniences,' (which to be sure is a beautiful climax,) 
' have happened to the cattle and other propert}^ of 
his Majesty's subjects.' Now I never before heard 
of anyparticular accidents happening to property from 
the hydrophobia, except in the case of cattle. In the 
Adventurer, a periodical paper, published by the in- 
genious Dr. Hawkesworth, I remember, indeed, a 
sort of humorous account of a dog that bit a hog in 
the streets ; the hog bit a farmer, and the farmer bit 
a cow 5 and, what is very extraordinary, each con- 
veyed his peculiar quality to the other ; for the hog 
barked like a dog, the farmer grunted like a hog, and 
the cow did its best to talk like the farmer. Now, I 
think there must have been something like this dis- 



200 SHERIDAN. 

positionin inanimate things also, by the conduct ofthe 
honourable gentleman in looking so carefully after 
property ; for, unless an instance has occurred of fur- 
niture's behaving in a disorderly manner, or a dumb 
waiter's barking in consequence ofthe hydrophobia, 
I conceive such a phrase could not have been intro- 
duced. The next part I have to notice is a clause, 
(the blank of which I hope will never be filled) that 
very solemnly states, 'For and in respect of every 
such dog, and for and in respect of every such bitch, 
a sum to be hereafter fixed is to be paid, and a regis- 
ter of such payments displayed on the church door 
where the parties reside.' So that if this bill pass, 
we ought to pass another to enlarge all the church 
and chapel doors throughout the kingdom ; for what 
wit!i one tax and another, no modern church or chapel 
door is capable of containing a register of them all." 

From the Debate on the increased Assessment of Taxes^ 
January 4, 1798. 

'' The honourable gentleman (Mr. Martin) con- 
siders the conduct of those whom he represents as 
unfit successors to the present men in power, as calcu- 
lated to encourage the jacobins, and to forward the 
views ofthe French. These certainly are formidable 
evils; but the honourable gentleman quickly discovers 
some ground of consolation amidst the dangers which 
he apprehends. He thinks that my right honourable 
friend (Mr. Fox) would retract the declarations he 
has made, that he would renounce the principles he 
has avowed, and that in office he would not act upon 
the professions he held before he came into power. 
On what part ofthe conduct of my right honourable 
friend he founds this assertion, I am at a loss to con- 



SHERIDAN. 201 

jecture. What are the professions made when out of 
office, which in power he has belied ? True it is, that 
sucli conduct is not unusual with statesmen. True it 
is, that there have been men who have forfeited such 
pledges ; who have said that there could be no salva- 
tion for this country without a radical reform (for this, 
beyond dispute, was the expression of the right 
honourable gentleman (Mr. Pitt) opposite) ; men who 
have maintained that no honest man could undertake 
the administration of this country without reform ; 
and have, like him,abandoned the words and principles 
they once held, and resisted, by all the power of cor- 
ruption, the cause which they had laboured to promote. 
With the right honourable gentleman, the type and 
image of apostacy, before his eyes, it perhaps is na- 
tural that the honourable gentleman should consider 
professions as made only to be renounced. When he 
reflects that the present minister has not only aban- 
doned the principles he professed, and violated the 
faith he pledged to the public, but has become the 
most violent persecutor of those whom he had con- 
vinced by his arguments, and influenced by his ex- 
ample, there is no wonder that he should distrust pro- 
fessions, and ascribe but little sincerity to the decla- 
rations of statesmen. The honourable gentleman 
apprehends that many dreadful consequences would 
ensue,were this radical reform to be carried into effect. 
What that radical change of system is to be, the ho- 
nourable gentleman professes to be ignorant. For my 
own part, I can say, that no man can be more deci- 
dedly hostile than I am to any change of system that 
could lead to a change of the ancient established 
constitution of this government. But I ^ will tell the 
honourable gentleman what has been the conse- 

k2 



202 SHERIDAN. 

quence of that change of system which has been in- 
troduced into the constitution of this country. 

" If any minister, of brilliant talents, of splendid 
endowments, but actuated by principles of the most 
boundless and colossal ambition, raised up by influ- 
ence, supported by corruption, should set at nought 
the rules of parliament,violate the act of appropriation, 
raise money without the authority of the House, and 
send it out of the country without the consent of par •^ 
liament ; if he has transgressed the constitution with 
impunity, if his criminality is suffered to pass even 
without rebuke, — this is nothing less than a radical 
change of system. If by his folly and incapacity he 
has raised discontents, — if, by the burdens which he 
has imposed to support an impolitic and ruinous 
system, he has alienated the minds of the people from 
his government, if, to suppress the opposition which 
such a state of things must naturally produce, he has 
had recourse to military force, and covered the country 
with barracks, in defiance of the constitution — such 
practices constitute a radical change of system. If he 
has distinguished his administration by severity un- 
known to the laws of this country, — if he has intro- 
duced new codes of sedition and treason, — if he has 
doomed men of talents to the horrors of transportation, 
the victims of harsh and rigorous sentences, — if he 
has laboured to vilify and to libel the conduct of 
juries ; such proceedings originate in a radical change 
of system. If he has used tlie royal prerogative in the 
creation of peers, not to reward merit, but converting 
the peerage into the regular price of base and servile 
support, — if he has carried this abuse so far, that, 
were the indignant, insulted spirit of this nation rou- 
sed atlength to demand justice on the crimes of which 



SHERIDAN. 203 

he has been guilty, he would be tried in a house of 
peers, where the majority of the judges were crea- 
ted by himself— I will tell the honourable gentleman 
that such a state of things must have originated in a 
radical change of system. Would it not be right, 
then, to pull down this fabric of corruption, to recall 
the government to its original principles, and to re- 
establish the constitution upon its true basis ? Will 
any set of men deny the necessity of a radical change 
of system, by which these evils shall be corrected, 
— will any do this, except those who already share 
in its corruptions, or who at some future period ex- 
pect to promote their personal interests by those very 
abuses which have exhausted the strength and en- 
dangered the safety of their country ?" 

From the Debate on the Definitive Treaty, 
May 14, 1802. 

" Sir, if any thing in the shape of a statesman will 
say in this house, that he looks at that power, " at 
which the world turns pale," without apprehen- 
sion, as the minister seems to tell us to-night, I must 
say that he has a prodigious stock of courage, or no 
skill at all in politics. But let France have colonies ! 
Oh, yes ! Let her have a good trade, that she may be 
afraid of war, says the learned member ! that's the way 
to make Buonaparte love peace. He has had, to be 
sure, a sort of military education ! He has been 
abroad, and in rather rough company ; butif youput 
him behind the counter a little, he will mend exceed- 
ingly ! When I was reading the treaty, I thought all 
the names of foreign places, viz. Pondicherry, Chan- 
dernagore, Cochin, Martinico,«fcc. all cessions. Not 



204 SHERIDAN. 

they : they are so many traps and holes to catch this 
silly fellow in, and make a merchant of him ! I real- 
ly think that, upon this principle, the best way would 
be this : let the merchants of London open a public 
subscription, and set him up at once ! I hear a great 
deal respecting a certain statue, about to be erected 
to the right honourable gentleman (Mr. Pitt) now in 
my eye, at a large expense. Send all that money 
over to the First Consul, and give him what you 
talk of so much, capital, to begin trade with. I hope 
the right honourable gentleman will, like the First 
Consul, refuse a statue for -the present, and postpone 
it as a work to posterity. There is no harm, howev- 
er, in marking out the place. The right honourable 
gentleman is musing, perhaps, on what square or 
place he will choose for its erection. I recommend 
the Bank of England. Now for the material. Not 
gold : no ! no ! he has not left enough of it. I should 
propose papier macM and old bank notes I" 

" The ex-ministers are quite separate and distinct, 
and yet they and the new ministers are all honourable 
friends ! What is the meaning of this mysterious con- 
nexion .'' Why does not the minister defend his peace 
on the only good grounds of defence ! Does he hold his 
situation only to make peace, and leave it for his pre- 
decessor .'' Do they bargain for support, on one side, of 
talent, and, on the other, of power ? No minister of 
this country ever condescended to act under such an 
incomprehensible connexion, and to receive such 
equivocal support ! Part of the case is clear. If the 
late minister attacks the treaty, the present may turn 
round and say, ' You brought me into a situation of 
necessity — you compelled me to sign a disgraceful 



SHERIDAN. 205 

treaty — you had been arrogant, and I have put up 
with indignity. — Buonaparte, by his minister, Otto, 
would laugh at me ! This work is yours. — You have 
placed us in this sad dilemma !' The minister, how- 
ever, takes no strong ground of defence. I will not 
say he dare not take it. There he sits, to receive the 
attack of the new confederacy, who are not great in 
numbers, but in talents. The ex-minister is mounted 
on a kind of hill-fort, to fire down on the assailants, 
but the garrison is all manned with deserters from the 
principles of the war.? I should like to support the 
present minister on fair ground ; but what is he ? a 
sort of outside passenger — or, rather, a man leading 
the horses round a corner, while reins, whip, and all, 
are in the hands of the coachman on the box. {Mr. 
S. looked at Mr. Pitt's elevated seat, three or four bench- 
es above that of the treasury.) Why not have a union 
of the two ministers, or, at least, some intelligible 
connexion .-' When the ex-minister quitted office, al- 
most all the subordinate ministers kept their places ! 
How was it that the whole family did not move to- 
gether ? Had he only one covered wagon to carry 
friends and goods ? Or has lie left directions behind 
him, that they may know where to call.-^ I remem- 
ber a fable of Aristophanes : it is translated from 
Greek into decent English. I mention this for the 
country gentlemen. It is of a man that sat so long 
on a seat (about as long, perhaps, as the ex-minister 
did on the treasury bench), that he grew to it. When 
Hercules pulled him off", he left all the sitting part 
of the man behind him ! The House can make the 
allusion. This is not a noble, manly kind of coali- 
tion between these gentlemen. Of that ex-minister 
I would just say, that no man admires his splendid 



206 SHERIDAN. 

talents more than I do. If ever there was a man 
formed and fitted by nature to benefit his country, and 
to give it lustre, he is such a man. He has no low, 
little, mean, petty views. He has too much good 
sense, taste, and talent, to set his mind upon ribands, 
stars, titles, and other appendages and idols of rank. 
He is of a nature not at all suited to be the creature 
or tool of any court. (Mr. Pitt bowed repeatedly.) 
But while I thus say of him no more than I think his 
great character and talents deserve, I must tell him 
how grossly he has misapplied them in the politics 
of this country ; I must tell him again how he has 
augmented our national debt, and of the lives he lost 
in this war. I must tell him he has done more against 
the privileges of the people, increased more the pow- 
er of the crown, and injured more the constitution 
of his country, than any minister I can mention." 

From the Debate on the Army Estimates, 
December 8, 1802. 

'^ Of the commercial talents of Buonaparte, 1 can 
be supposed to know but little; but bred in camps, 
it cannot be imagined that his commercial knowl- 
edge can be very great ; and, indeed, if I am rightly 
informed, he is proceeding on the old plan of heavy 
duties and prohibitions. But he will go a shorter 
way to work. The old country has capital, and cred- 
it, and commercial enterprise, and he may think, if he 
can subjugate us, that he can carry them off" to France, 
like so many busts and marbles. But he would find 
himself mistaken ; that credit would wither under 
the gripe of power ; that capital would sink into the 
earth, if trodden upon by the foot of a despot. That 
commercial enterprise would, I beheve, lose all its 



SHERIDAN. 207 

vigour in the presence of an arbitrary government. 
No, sir, instead of putting his nation apprentice to 
commerce, he has other ideas in his head. My hum- 
ble apprehension is, that, though in tlie tablet 
and volume of his mind there may be some mar- 
ginal note about cashiering the King of Etruria, 
yet, that the whole text is occupied with the des- 
truction of this country. This is the first vision that 
breaks upon him through the gleam of the morn- 
ing; this is his last prayer at night, to whatever de- 
ity he addresses it, whether to Jupiter or Mahomet, 
to the goddess of Battles, or the goddess of Reason. 
But sir, the only consolation is, that he is a great 
philosopher and philanthropist. I believe this hy- ^ 
per-philanthrophy has done more harm than ever it 
did good. He has discovered that we all belong to 
the Western family. Sir, I confess, I feel a senti- 
ment of deep indignation, when I hear (I take it 
from report) that this scrap of nonsense was uttered 
to one of the most enlightened of the human race. 
To this family party I do not wish to belong. He 
may invite persons, if he please, to dinner, and, 
like Lord Peter, say, that this tough crust is excel- 
lent mutton. He may toss a sceptre to the King 
of Etruria to play with, and keep a rod to scourge 
him in the corner ; he may have tliought at first his 
Cisalpine Republic a fine growing child, and may 
have found it a ricketty bantling ; but I feel contempt 
for all this mockery. Let us, sir, abstain from in- 
vective, only let us speak the truth. Why, sir, 
what I have said is nothing but the truth. Let us 
be visiting acquaintance, but I do implore him not 
to consider us as one of the family." 



From the Debate on the Prince of Wales's 
Establishment, March 4, 1803. 

" An honourable gentleman opposite, and the 
worthy baronet near him, have said that trappings 
are of no importance, that virtue is every thing ; and 
they deprecate the assumption of rank and state ac- 
cordingly. I have no objection to tliis doctrine, if 
the system so early established, so invariably main- 
tained, and handed down to us by our ancestors, be 
proved to be foolish. But let the rule be general ; 
let not the splendour of one be curtailed, while that oi 
another is extended. If, as was said by a great man 
in this country (the Earl of Chatham), ' Every fea- 
ther of the royal bird aids his flight,' though I 
will not go to the length that noble lord did, in 
saying, that ' when they drooped, or were shed, the 
bird would fall to the ground;' yet all should be 
cautiously preserved. In order to bring this dis- 
mantling system home to gentlemen's minds, let it be 
applied to the house. Let us suppose that the speaker 
possesses sufficient dignity, and commands sufficient 
respect, by those virtues which are acknowledged to 
belong to him; let the chair be removed, let the 
other badges be stripped off", let that bauble (the 
mace) be taken away, let the fine house which is 
building for him, in which I hope he will soon enter- 
tain the members with his accustomed hospitality and 
splendour, be demolished ; let the state coach be laid 
down, and instead of proceeding in it to St. James's, 
attended by a grand procession of members in their 
private coaches, let him go on foot with the addresses, 
covered with a warm surtout, and honoured with the 
privilege of an umbrella in case o^rain. — Let tlie 



SHERIDAN. 209 

judges be conducted by no sheriffs, or sheriffs' at- 
tendants, to the assized towns ; let the chief-justice go 
down in the mail coach, and the puisne judges be 
satisfied with travelling as outside passengers. — Let 
the Lord Mayor, instead of coming to Westminster- 
hall in the state barge, accompanied by the several 
companies, in their state barges, let him come in a 
plain wherry without any attendants, and instead of 
going back to feast on turtle at Guildhall, with the 
great officers of state and foreign ambassadors, let him 
content himself with stopping on his way back, and 
taking a beef-steak at Dolly's Chop-house. It is not 
easy to have done in citing instances where an 
abridgment of those trappings, which foreigners ad- 
mire, but which, according to these gentlemen, are 
quite simple and unnecessary in the Prince of Wales, 
might be effected with great saving to the public." 

DETACIIKD THOUGHTS. 

On subjects on which the mind has been much 
informed, invention is slow of exerting itself Faded 
ideas float in the fancy like half forgotten dreams; 
and the imagination'in its fullest enjoyments becomes 
suspicious of its offspring, and doubts whether it has 
created or adopted. 

No passion suffers more than malice from disap- 
pointment. 

When delicate and feeling souls are separated, 
there is not a feature in the sky, not a movement of 
the elements, not an aspiration of the breeze, but 
hints some cause for a lover's apprehension ! 



210 SHERIDAN. 

Let your courage be as keen, but at the same 
time as polished, as your sword. 

* * » * * * 

While hope pictures to us a flattering scene of 
future bliss, let us deny its pencil those colours which 
are too bright to be lasting. — When hearts deserving 
happiness would unite their fortunes, Virtue would 
crown them with an unfading garland of modest, 
hurtless flowers; but ill-judging Passion will force 
the gaudier rose into the wreath, whose thorn offends 
them when its leaves are dropped. 

There is a chilling air around poverty, that often 
kills affection, that was not nursed in it. If we would 
make love our household god, we had best secure 
him a comfortable roof. 

You should never bestow pity on those who take 
pains for your contempt : pity those whom nature 
abuses, never those who abuse nature. 

****** 

Men seldom think deeply on subjects on which 
they have no choice of opinion : — they are fearful of 
encountering obstacles to their faith (as in religion), 
and so are content with the surface. 

You represent your situation of mind between 
hopes and fears. I am afraid I should argue in vain 
(as I have often on this point before) were I to tell 
you, that it is always better to encourage the former 
than the latter. It may be very prudent to mix a 
little fear by way of alloy with a good solid mass of 
hope ; but you, on the contrary, always deal in ap- 
prehension by the pound, and take confidence by the 



SHERIDAN. 211 

ain, and spread as thin as leaf gold. In fact, 
ough a metaphor mayn't explain it, the truth is, 
at, in all undertakings which depend principally 
I ourselves, the surest way not to fail is to deter- 
ine to succeed. 

■jf * * * * * 

The loss of the breath from a beloved object, long 
iffering in pain and certainty to die, is not so great 
privation as the last loss of her beautiful remains, 
they remain so. The Victory of the Grave is 
larperthan the Sting of Death. 

Although no man can command his conviction, I 
ave ever considered adehberate disposition to make 
roselytes in infidelity as an unaccountable depravity, 
i^hoever attempts to pluck the belief or the preju- 
ice on this subject, style it which he will, from the 
3som of one man, v/oman, or child, commits a brutal 
utrage, the motive for which I have never been 
Die to trace or conceive. 



THE END. 



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